


Criminal Attraction

by thebananahasspoken



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Cop!Frisk, Corruption, F/M, Flirting, Gangs, Guns, Jerk!Sans, Mob!Sans, Mob!Tale, Murder, Suits OMG, Threats, hate groups, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebananahasspoken/pseuds/thebananahasspoken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“you’re right about my manners, officer… i do forget myself sometimes. but i’ll have to take exception to the suit jibe. insulting a monster’s clothes… that’s just downright crass,” Sans commented, straightening his cobalt blue tie (a silver ring glinted on his forefinger, catching her eye for a moment); he gave her another up and down look, much longer and introspective.</p><p>“’specially comin’ from a woman in a tacky uniform.”</p><p>Frisk’s heart was still pounding in her ears, her adrenaline surging and her fight-or-flight senses begging her to see sense (flight was, at least… fight demanded she punch the jerk right in the teeth), but she knew she couldn’t back down now; he was testing her, and while she didn’t need his respect, she certainly couldn’t lose her backbone now that she had shown she had one.</p><p>They would take advantage of her, if she showed weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Irony Incarnate

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I promised my followers on Tumblr, as thanks for 100 of them, and I finally got it done (mostly). I finished the first chapter and most of the second one, but i won't be posting the next one until I work on some drabbles and finish the next chapter of Dalliance. Aaanyway,
> 
> This is a Mob!Tale fic, and true to my form, will include gratuitous violence, cursing, guns, gang activity, trauma, character death (mostly in the past), some amount of drugs (not usage), romance, and eventual, graphic smut. 
> 
> Please, if you are underage, do not continue past this warning.
> 
> If you are of age, welcome, and enjoy your stay. I hope you enjoy the show <3
> 
> My Tumblr, where you can find summaries, fanart, story update information, and other shenanigans.  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/

* * *

“So I said to him, I said, ‘If you’re gonna be so obtuse about it, why dontcha try another _angle_?!’”

The crocodile monster laughed uproariously at his own joke, smacking the steering wheel he sat in front of and making a few droplets of coffee fly from the thermos sitting precariously on the dashboard, and Frisk, chuckling forcedly (Reggie had been practicing his stand-up routine for near on half an hour, most of his jokes pun related and poorly executed), hid her grimace behind her own coffee cup, turning to look out the minutely rolled down cruiser window at the slowly moving traffic beyond.

God, she wished something would happen.

She’d shown up to the station over an hour early that morning, jumping up and down in her squeaky rolling chair next to Reggie’s desk (she didn’t have her own desk yet; budget and floor concerns, she had been told) while she waited impatiently for her new partner to show up.

She had been waiting _months_ for the chance to hit the streets, to be a _real_ cop, putting up with filing duty and doing her time as a meter maid while waiting for a junior partner slot on the force to open up, and that weekend, it finally had.

Reggie’s old partner Greg, a grizzled man with a graying handlebar mustache and a large bald patch at the back of his head (he wore a large cowboy hat to cover it, and dodged questions about it with preternatural talent) had retired, ending a career on the force of nearly forty-four years.

Frisk had been invited to the party, but had passed on it in favor of spending the whole weekend studying her manuals, the coding compendium, and the new law ledger for the year, double checking her Miranda Rights and pressing her uniform three times.

She couldn’t have been more ready for today.

She’d been working her entire life for the opportunity, had moved from the rural city she grew up in to attend the Ebott Academy, had left everything she had ever known behind to fulfill her dream.

The move had come with its share of downfalls, of course; she knew no one in the metropolis, had gotten stuck in a tiny, filthy apartment in one of the seedier parts of town (but hey, she’d only been broken into once, and all they’d taken had been two pairs of her underwear and her toothbrush), and she missed her dad terribly, the first time she’d been away from him since her mother’s untimely death.

However, she had done extremely well at the Academy, first in her class, in fact, and had gotten the partner spot relatively quickly; sleeping with one eye open and her gun under her pillow was well worth the reward of her ambition.

Frisk had been nervous beyond reason the night before, barely sleeping despite her best efforts and _knowing_ she would need her rest (she had been allotted to the city center, a district rife with crime, organized and otherwise, and it was known to be very dangerous assignment), but her energy had been high despite her entirely coffee fueled wakefulness, and her spirits had been soaring since the moment she had done up her seatbelt in the passenger seat of the cruiser, making small talk with her new partner, Reggie Waterson.

Things… were not going as she had imagined.

They’d been sitting in the car on the same corner for almost four hours now, watching the downtown crush inch its way further down the road; the sun had fully risen long ago, shining mutedly from beyond the mist of fog that clung to the tall buildings of the city and the sloping hills and dales of Mt. Ebott.

They’d only had a few traffic stops, nothing unorthodox or exciting, to break the monotony; her caffeine high had worn off around nine, leaving her lethargic and bored and overly warm in the summer sunlight and the languishing, unsatisfactory relief of the faulty car air conditioner.

Sweat had been dripping from the loose hank of hair that drooped from behind her ear, gathering under the brim of her hat, and trickling down her neck (she had undone the top two buttons of her uniform shirt covertly, hopeful of catching a breath of a breeze through the crack in the window), and she was looking forward to lunch, where she would be able to dry off, more than she was the rest of the work day like she had been intending.

Frisk had been looking forward to working with Reggie, the reptilian monster she had been assigned to, as well; he stood over ten feet tall from his bumpy head to his forest green, swishing tail, and was both intimidating and vast, fond of his morning pastry and armed not only with twelve years of experience with handguns (and even more with water magic; he claimed to be almost two centuries old), but also razor sharp teeth and claws, armored scales, and incredibly quick reflexes.

He was loath to use them, however, being one of the gentlest crocodiles she had ever met (she was pretty sure the term was an oxymoron in itself), and far preferred telling jokes and reading the funny pages in his newspaper than intimidating anything; he was easygoing, sociable, and rather chatty, especially when it came to celebrity gossip.

She had never heard so much about Kim Kardashian in her life.

She did like Reggie, at the end of the day, sweet and caring and fiercely loyal… he was just, among many other things, not what she had been anticipating.

The way the day was progressing, Frisk wasn’t sure she had really had any idea what she was getting into.

She was still hopeful, though, of seeing some action today, her spirit indomitable; she hadn’t been working towards this opportunity for years to give up the as soon as she got a little bored.

That didn’t stop her from being moody about it.

 She let out a sigh, plopping her now empty coffee cup in her cupholder, and scratched under the brim of her cap, wiping the sweat onto her trousers.

Reggie, flipping his pocket notepad of jokes and stories to a new page and licking the end of his pencil, paused in his movement, looking over at the young human curiously.

“What’s the matter, kid? Aww, it was all the puns, wasn’t it? I knew I was dropping too many, Sally always tells me not to use so much satire, makes me sound like Sans…” he moaned, slapping his notebook on his knee and the back of his hand to his forehead (which was sweat free, being a reptile; he was perfectly comfortable, energized even, from being out in the sun), but Frisk was quick to correct him, shaking her head and smiling feebly.

“Oh, Reggie, no, it wasn’t the jokes. You’ve gotten quite good with your wordplay. I was just… I’m a little disappointed by my first day, is all. Being in Central, I had been expecting car chases and drug busts and breaking up fights. All we’ve done are issue a few speeding tickets,” she admitted mournfully, wiping at the back of her neck with her hand (again), and Reggie let out a sigh as well, rolling his eyes and tucking the notebook into his front breast pocket.

“Frisk, don’t you worry about the action. We’ll be getting those calls all too soon; I’m honestly surprised we haven’t gotten anything yet. The city is fast, and the streets are tough. You’ll be dying for days like these soon enough, believe me,” he assured her, reaching over to clap a taloned hand to her shoulder, and Frisk looked back at him skeptically before nodding slowly, a real smile pulling at her lips.

Naturally, she was just being impatient… she should have thought as much. She should enjoy the downtime while she could.

“Alright, thanks. Sorry, I can get a little ahead of myself,” she excused, pulling at her collar to waft some slightly less warm air under her shirt, and Reggie shrugged in response, giving her shoulder a final pat before reaching for his coffee thermos.

“Don’t worry about it, I get it. It is a bit hot today, too, isn’t it?” he observed, fanning himself while flicking the top of his cup, then very nearly dropped it when the radio, poised between their two seats, squawked into life suddenly, static breaking over the intercom in lieu of the voice of the control operator.

It had been blaring all morning, announcing traffic accidents and jaywalkers, but this was different; this was loud, urgent, and insistent.

It was an alarm.

**_“Patrol in sector 7, Ebott Central, please respond. Code purple in progress, repeat, code purple.”_ **

Reggie scrambled to put his thermos in his cup holder so he could snatch up the receiver, Frisk having to catch and straighten it to prevent it from tipping over onto the floor, then held the small handset to his snout, looking mildly panicked.

 **“** Ah, 10-4, control, Officer Reginald Waterson, badge number 67292. What’s going on?” he replied tersely, eyes flicking blankly over the passing traffic as he awaited a response; Frisk sat rigid in her seat, doing the same, while the operator read back the details of the call.

**_“10-68 from Grillby’s Bar, 1861 Main, 415/417 reported. Repeat, 10-68 from Grillby’s Bar, 415/417 reported. Respond immediately.”_ **

Reggie gritted his needle sharp teeth, clawed hand clenching around the handset, before responding, a hardness filtering into his voice that Frisk had never heard personally.

“10-4, control, on our way,” he answered, resolve and drive in his gaze, then slammed the set back into its holder, flicked the siren on, and put the cruiser into drive, speeding out into the thoroughfare (three cars had to hit their brakes suddenly to avoid crashing into them, their horns blaring, but Reggie paid them no mind, set on his path and the need to reach the scene of the emergency as soon as possible).

As he drove, Reggie looked sideways at Frisk, who had paled considerably since the call had come in and was clenching the handle of her door and the side of her seat in a vicelike grip, her knuckles white and pronounced.

“What did I tell you, huh? Only a matter of time,” he joked halfheartedly, spinning the wheel hard to speed through a left turn on a yellow light, weaving around cars that were too slow to pull to the right.

Frisk made a bland noise of agreement, seemingly unable to speak at the moment as even more color left her face, but Reggie, paying close attention to the road (he was completely ignoring the GPS system, clearly familiar with the location of the crime scene), nodded as though she had answered.

“Alright, so, to business. I know you’re new, so I’ll give you some time on learning codes. Control called in…” he began, ready as always to be of the most use he could be even in his clear worry and distraction, but Frisk interrupted him numbly, eyes straight ahead but unseeing.

“I know what they said, Reggie. Telephone call from Grillby’s Bar, a disturbance from a person or persons with a gun… and gang activity,” she supplied vacantly, swallowing hard and trying extremely hard to suppress her lower lip trembling (she needed to get a grip… she couldn’t lose her head like this…), but if Reggie noticed the emptiness of her tone, he didn’t say anything, instead looking extremely impressed at the same moment as he ran a stop sign, forcing an SUV and a pickup truck to screech to a halt.

“Wow, look at you! You must be real smart, it took me _forever_ to learn the codes... but! Since you understood, let’s go over some safety, okay?” he pressed, raising his brows and reaching out an elbow to jostle the nearly comatose human in the seat next to him, then launched into a clearly practiced spiel.

“Stay close to me, keep your sidearm at the ready, and stay alert. There are some really dangerous gangs around here, and most of them don't like seeing the police. Things might get hairy. Just keep to the law, stay smart, and we’ll get out of this just fine,” he reassured at the end of his instructions, smiling tremulously but widely, and Frisk nodded torpidly, her hands shaking even as they clenched at the cruiser for support.

“Yeah… just fine,” she echoed hollowly, her lips clenching together following her statement, and reached unsteadily to feel the handgun strapped to her side, suddenly realizing just how small it was.

The last thing she was going to be was just fine.

Frisk had been expecting that it would be much longer before she had a run in with a gang, though she knew that it was part of her job, in the crime-riddled city, to deal with the mob and their lesser affiliates on a regular basis, sometimes to do war, and sometimes to make peace.

She had thought she would have more time, though, to acclimate, to fit into the shoes of her new job more fully; she had hoped that she would have more of a chance to brace herself for reliving the worst moment of her life.

In truth, she had been dealing with the mafia for years, long before today… she had only been sixteen upon her first run-in, long before the night her resolve to resist crime and bring those responsible to justice had surfaced.

Consequentially, that had the same night she had watched her adoptive mother fall to dust, executed in misunderstanding and brutality.

The same gun that had ended her mother’s life had been held to her forehead, too, had threatened her existence just for witnessing the criminal’s mistake, but she had been saved by benevolence, by the appearance of the local police force, who had rescued her from her captor’s clutches and had taken her home to grieve with her desolated father.

She had overcome her sorrow… she had overcome the worst of her fear, though memory could be harsh in the cruelest of her dreams.

She had never overcome her desire to revenge herself on her mother’s murderer, though, to find the monster hidden in the shadows that had killed just because he could, that had _enjoyed_ the fear in both her and her mother’s eyes.

They had never found him, the beast that had so wronged her family, and she had sworn to do so herself, years after the case had been closed and stone cold.

Were her reasons for becoming an officer entirely virtuous? No.

She _did_ want to serve the law, to ensure that no sons and daughters ever had to miss their parents without justice, that no husbands or wives had to lose their partner without vengeance…

Most of all, though, she wanted the spilled blood of her faultless mother to be repaid.

The moment that Frisk had heard the repeatedly studied codes read out, though, the moment she had realized that she may be facing down her demon _today_ , she had quailed, her habitually suffered fear rising to choke the breath from her body.

She wasn’t ready, and she knew it.

The spectral terror grinned at her through the pages of her history, threatening everything she had ever known to satisfy its bloodlust, and Frisk, helpless to its influence (gods, she hated feeling like this), quavered, sinking into herself and flinching away from her sworn duty.

She was such a _coward_ …

Something inside her, though, that same something that always buoyed her in her lowest times (her dad had always called it gumption, her teachers grit, and her one boyfriend sheer stubbornness), rose at that moment to push her onward, reminding her of her faithful partner, her training, and her resolve to see this through to whatever end.

She _could_ do this. They were just thugs… she could do this.

Frisk breathed in heavily through her nose, steadying her nerves and centering her mind, before nodding minutely to herself, set on her course, and came back to reality in time to see Reggie round one last corner, coming to a stop at the crowded curb in front of a tall, bricked building that bore the moniker, in bright, flashy, purple and teal neon, _Grillby’s Bar and Grill_.

Several very showy cars were parked in front of the establishment, which stood out like a beacon beside its crumbling counterparts, picture windows shining in the late morning sun and sidewalk weed free and swept; through the largest of the windows, in which hung a large “Open” sign, could be seen several monsters seated in booths along the wall, looking with interest and slight disdain out at the police car that had just pulled up, sirens blaring.

The scene looked… quiet, not anything like she had been expecting.

Reggie sent Frisk a sideways glance as he unbuckled his seatbelt and kicked his door open, his tail uncurling from beneath the car seat; he didn’t bother to turn the car off, only flipping the switch on the siren to silence it.

“Alright, Frisk, stay close. Let’s go in,” he muttered tensely, undoing the button on his gun holster before surging from the car fluidly, his instincts kicking in, and Frisk struggled from her own seat, forgetting to hit the buckle on her seatbelt in her rush.

She caught up with the crocodile monster on the sidewalk, though, fumbling with the clasp on her own gun but waiting to pull it until they had assessed the situation, and followed in his footsteps up to the heavy wooden door that lead into the bar, swallowing at the well of panic that threatened her calm.

She could do this, she would be fine… maybe they should have called for backup… _no_ , no it would be okay, Reggie knew what he was doing…

Reggie paused with one hand on the wrought iron handle, his other on his gun, glanced back at Frisk one more time (she gave him an assured nod and a grim smile), before pulling the door open completely, washing sunlight into the darkened, smoky business.

Again, Frisk was surprised by the lack of action; none of the monsters seated at the tables visible from her viewpoint behind Reggie (he blocked most of the doorway, both tall and wide) even moved beyond pausing in their conversations to look at who was coming inside.

Reggie, catching the door with his shoulder and motioning over his shoulder for Frisk to follow, slowly entered the restaurant, eyeing the patrons carefully while assessing the situation; she followed cautiously, edging in behind her partner and coming to his side so she could take in the scene for herself.

The bar was clean and open, paneled in wood and littered with tables, booths, and crowned by a long, shining bar, all filled with lunchtime customers; the air was clouded with the smells of hickory, cooking meat, and nicotine smoke, and was charged with what she knew to be magic, universe energy crackling against her skin like instinct and agitation.

There was no mystery to why that was… every occupant of the establishment, besides herself, were monsters, and there had clearly been a fight, if the two tied up, heavily beaten, and fitfully struggling monsters laid out on top of the bar were any indication.

The atmosphere plummeted drastically, once she and Reggie stepped into the bar, from casual joviality to measured contempt; every conversation halted and every eye turned to them (chairs squeaked as some of the patrons rotated in their chairs), perusing them with obvious dislike.

The fact that every one of them were members of the mob was overkill.

Of course, not every monster was a gang member, or were even familiar with the monster gangs that had cropped up after they had been released from the Underground; that was blatant racism, and something she knew not to be true from personal experience (her father was a monster, and had refused dealings with the mafia on numerous occasions).

Most monsters weren’t, in fact, and respected the law of the land as well as, and often better than, the humans that had created those laws in the first place.

Some, though, like the twenty or so monsters lounging in the restaurant before her, were of a different ilk than their law-abiding counterparts; profiling aside, most members of the mob had fairly telling appearances.

Of the monsters present, 90% wore button down shirts and suits in varying degrees of wear, though most were clean, pressed, and clearly expensive, bore defined and blatant expressions of sarcastic condescension at the appearance of the police, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, were to a one packing heat (some weren’t even bothering to hide their firearms, their suit coats thrown over the handles unabashedly).

Some of the monsters were nursing tumblers of alcohol despite the early hour, swirling the ice in them and tracing the lips of the cups; still others were exhaling smoke from cigarettes and cigars into the already smoky air in complete disregard of the illegality of the activity.

One thug, a skeleton monster wearing a fine suit, a low-brimmed hat, and a permanent grin, caught her eye, lounging against the bar between two enormous, gilled, fish-like monsters; he looked directly at her, took a deep draw of his cigar, and blew a slow, lofty stream of smoke out through his nasal cavity, defying logic completely (did skeleton monsters have lungs?).

Looking away from the monster’s magically lit sockets, strangely unnerved by his stare, Frisk instead turned to follow Reggie, who had loosened up considerably and was currently edging his way towards the bar at the front of the establishment, weaving between the tables as well as his girth would allow.

Registering that he had gone ahead without her, Frisk scuttled in his wake, releasing her death grip on her sidearm and trying to avoid her partner’s swinging tail as he squeezed between the customers; a lump of nervousness at being so close to the dangerous monsters, their gazes following the police duo across the room, rose up her throat, tasting like bile and inevitability (she really wasn’t ready for this, this was too much, there were so _many_ … no, no, it was fine, no one had made a move…), but she pressed on despite her fear, focusing on not tripping on her own feet.

There was a clamor as they crossed the room, a patron knocked out of their chair by Reggie’s bulk and scrambling to right themselves (Frisk rushed to help them to their feet, but got shrugged off for her trouble while Reggie picked up their chair), and when the pair had turned back to continue making their way to the bar of the restaurant, they found their path blocked, the stout, grinning skeleton monster she had noticed only a moment ago standing between the tables ahead with his hands inserted in his pockets, his cigar sending a twisting plume of ashen smoke wafting towards the ceiling.

Shocked by his sudden appearance and glancing over Reggie’s shoulder to where he had been reclining seconds before (the stool he had been sitting in, halfway across the room, was now vacant; it was definitely the same monster), Frisk stumbled to a halt to avoid bumping into her partner, awkward in her surprise; she flushed angrily, mortified, when a few of the monsters in the establishment snickered at her clumsiness.

The skeleton himself, removing the cigar from between his teeth and tapping cinders from it into an ashtray on a table nearby, gave her only a passing glance, a dismissive up and down that managed to convey both disdain and apathy (Frisk went beet red from her cheeks to the collar of her uniform, humiliated and wanting nothing more than to leave), before turning to the tall crocodile monster she stood behind, his grin ratcheting up a notch in acknowledgement and affability.

“reg. long time no see… haven’t been around these parts in awhile. howya been?” he queried sociably, his voice deep and mixed with smooth contours, like an old wine; he replaced the cigar in his mouth to extend his hand (bones too… how was he being held together? Magic?) towards the reptilian police officer, his movements managing to be both suave and measured at once.

Reggie ignored his extended hand, though, and instead caught the skeleton into a bone breaking hug (Frisk snickered to herself, hearing an uncomfortable sounding crack come from the other monster; she needed to be careful, puns like that could rot your brain), lifting the shorter male into the air as he did before setting him back on the ground and patting his back roughly, laughing boisterously all the while.

“Sans, you old bag of bones! I’ve been great; busy as a bee, but you know how it is, my friend! What about you, eh? All the noise I’m hearing from the news tells me you’ve been busy too… ah, but that’s the business for you. How’s that brother of yours?” he crowed, peppy in his restored good humor (at least he could relax… Frisk felt like every muscle in her body was tensed) and clearly familiar with the other monster, and the skeleton, named Sans, apparently, let out a dry chuckle, straightening his suit coat officiously.

“y’know paps… can never get him to stay in the same spot for more than five minutes. he’s always been like that, though; dunno where he gets all the energy from. he started cookin’ again… we oughta have ya over sometime, though it doesn’t look like you need much feedin’ up, huh?” he jibed good-naturedly, jabbing an elbow at the crocodile monster’s gut (yep, definitely knew each other well), and while Reggie responded with another ostentatious laugh, unperturbed by the mention of his weight, Frisk glanced around the bar, noticing the tension in the air lessening radically.

The mobsters, seeming to settle after the appearance of the police, had mostly turned back to attend to their own business, talking and laughing amongst themselves, where they had looked prepared to attack before the skeleton monster had approached Reggie.

A few, however, namely the large amphibian monsters that had been flanking Sans earlier (accompanied by a number of the others in the crowd, though to a lesser degree and extent), were avidly watching the skeleton now leaning one arm comfortably on one of the round tables, his highly polished shoes crossed at the ankles; they seemed edgy, poised to rise from their chairs at a moment’s notice, as though to defend the much smaller monster.

Sans must be a pretty high ranking member of his organization, to be such an influence on the other monsters… were the heavily muscled, scaled monsters his bodyguards?

Huffing out a shaky breath (being in a bar full of gangsters, peaceful for the moment notwithstanding, was putting her on edge, painful memory nudging at her busily), Frisk swallowed heavily and turned back to observe the conversation before her, wishing they could just get the job done and leave but knowing how sociable Reggie was, especially with what appeared to be an old friend.

“…plus, Sally has been in a baking frenzy lately. They tell me the cravings are normal, but watching her put an entire cake away is pretty intimidating. I can’t help but wanna help her out, you know?” Reggie was enumerating, most likely bragging about his wife and soon-to-be child again (he very rarely wasn’t, incredibly proud to have ensnared the love of the petite, fiery, redheaded human), and Sans nodded in accord, reaching over to extinguish the stub of his cigar in the ashtray beside him.

"i get ya. she's been good to you, no mistake. let me know the date, hmm? i'll send over some things for the baby," he insisted, snapping his fingers at one of the monsters sitting at a nearby table (the icicle-draped crony stood up, scurried over to his side, and deposited a pad of paper and a pen into his waiting hand), and Reggie, clasping a hand to his broad chest, looked tearful, rattling off the date and patting the skeleton on the shoulder with happy tears clinging to his beady eyes.

Sans, scribbling the numbers onto the paper he held, ripped the top page off, slid it into his front pants pocket, and tossed the notepad and pen to the waiting monster, grinning up at Reggie, before sparing Frisk another short look, contemplative and calculating (she had never felt so judged in her life, suddenly painfully aware of her sweaty, untidy hair and self-consciously trying to finger comb the loose strands into order).

“nice as it is to catch up, reg… i couldn’t help but notice you don’t have greg with you today. old codger finally give up the ghost?” the stocky skeleton observed, sliding his hands into his pockets again as he looked away from Frisk flippantly, her existence ceasing in his attentions.

Frisk, instant dislike surging in her chest at the treatment she was receiving, bit down on her tongue, glaring at the glossy buttons on the monster’s fancy suit coat resentfully; she knew this tactic, used to make sure you _knew_ you were unimportant, had had it used on her before in her mother’s dealings with the mafia (honestly, it was better to be ignored than to be noticed by a mobster… once they made note of you, knew who you were, they very rarely forgot, and that could mean trouble), and as such kept her silence, though it grated on her personally.

If she weren't surrounded by gangsters, and staring down a clearly powerful one, she would have ripped him another breathing hole (not that he needed one).

Reggie, blithely oblivious to Sans’ behavior, let out a small gasp, snatching up a napkin from the table next to him to dab at his teary eyes.

“Oh damn, that’s right! Yeah, Greg retired on Saturday; hemorrhoids couldn’t take the walking anymore. This is Officer Dreemurr, my new partner! She’s a new recruit, fresh out of the academy! Man, I remember when I was new on the force… so long ago,” he reminisced, his eyes far away and his fist clenching around the damp napkin in his palm as he backed himself out of the way of Frisk and the boorish skeleton monster, making room for them to acquaint themselves, but neither of them moved, Frisk staring warily at the mobster and Sans, one brow crooked impassively, showing absolutely zero interest in ingratiating himself, doing no more than glancing at her name tag lazily from under the brim of his hat.

_Dick._

“hmm. they send ‘em in younger and younger these days, eh, reg? think she’ll make it in this town?” he commented idly, shrugging his shoulders to settle his coat more evenly; he smirked crookedly, as though sharing a joke with the reptile between them, before looking straight at Frisk, staring into her eyes with hard, callous menace that put at odds his languid grin.

“i don’t. she looks… weak.”

Frisk flushed even darker in humiliation and anger, trembling in place in the wake of the skeleton monster’s assessment, her fists balled and her back ramrod straight.

It hurt, to be described as such by someone she had never met before; the uncouth skeleton clearly had a keen eye, knew how to demoralize his prey by hitting hard and fast, and had struck her where she was hurting most.

She had always feared being weak, being dismissed for her failings and assumed to be inconsequential.

She had worked her whole life to never be weak like she had been when she was young, when she had cowered in front of bullies like him, when she hadn’t been able to save her mother… she had thought that she wasn’t anymore.

She had done so well, in school and the academy and at the Embassy, keeping her dad’s paperwork and playing guard; she had thought she would do just as well in the city, at her dream job.

And then this monster, who didn’t know her from Eve, had stomped all over her progress, had destroyed her hope for no reason she could understand; probably to show off in front of his gang, or to put her in her place. 

It had worked. She had never felt so small.

Frisk, destitute tears pushing at her eyes, breathed heavily through her nose, staring down the smug and victorious looking mobster.

She wanted to run, to make some excuse and duck out of the bar, to _never_ face him again, but knew that she couldn’t, could already feel her shame being burned away by anger and vengeance.

She knew that she needed to let this moment pass, to keep herself free of trouble and unwanted attention… she needed to bow out, keep her head down, and let the gangster have his poignant insult.

She needed to let him think he had won, to not make her father’s worries about her being safe in the city a reality.

Her fury disagreed, and overpowered her better senses before she could stop it.

“It’s rude to talk about people like they’re not there. Did you learn your manners in the same place you got your suit? It’s about as cheap as your insults,” she retorted, face calm but heart pumping like she had just run a marathon (what was she doing?! She was going to get shot…), and Sans, surprise overtaking his arrogance, pulled his head back in disbelief, brows rising over his magically lit sockets.

He studied her in silence, new consideration in his gaze, before taking a step forward, challenge and interest pulling at his renewed smirk; he waved a hand over his shoulder idly as he did, and behind him, several members of his gang that had stood halfway from their tables, hands drifting under their jackets, sat back down, petulant scowls on their faces.

Holy shit…

“you’re right about my manners, officer… i do forget myself sometimes. but i’ll have to take exception to the suit jibe. insulting a monster’s clothes… that’s just downright crass,” he commented, straightening his cobalt blue tie (a silver ring glinted on his forefinger, catching her eye for a moment); he gave her another up and down look, much longer and introspective.

“’specially comin’ from a woman in a tacky uniform.”

Frisk’s heart was still pounding in her ears, her adrenaline surging and her fight-or-flight senses begging her to see sense (flight was, at least… fight demanded she punch the jerk right in the teeth), but she knew she couldn’t back down now; he was testing her, and while she didn’t need his respect, she certainly couldn’t lose her backbone now that she had shown she had one.

They would take advantage of her, if she showed weakness.

As such, she looked down at her uniform, brushed some imaginary lint from her shoulder, and popped her collar with false bravado (oh god damn, her top buttons were still undone, she needed to fix that…), glancing back at the carefully observant skeleton monster.

“I guess it isn’t exactly stylish… but it _suits_ me better than Armani any day,” she snarked timidly, hopeful of hitting his funny bone (gods, she needed to cut it out with the puns… Reggie was having a bad influence on her), and Sans, his sockets widening in further amazement, stared at her blankly for a moment before letting out a chest rattling chortle, one hand raising to press to his sternum as he chuckled.

He laughed for a good, hearty ten seconds, head thrown back and all, before looking back at her with a new light in his gaze; he looked much more friendly, his smile hiding nothing but humor in its lilt.

“ah… good one, kid. you’ve got spunk… i admire that,” he allowed, amusement still tinting his voice into a mellow tenor; he stepped up to her until they were only two feet apart (he wasn’t as short as he had looked from across the room, standing a few solid inches over her at the very least), looking down at her with a raised brow, then extended his hand casually, secrets clinging to the edges of his welcoming grin.

“nice to meetcha. name’s sans. sans the skeleton, though the feds prefer i go by the surname snowdin. taxes and such,” he explained with a shrug, disregard for the government’s control on him clear in his tone, and though Frisk instinctually pulled away from his gesture of peace, flinching and distrustful, she still returned the motion, sliding her hand into his and grasping his palm, intending to shake it and be done.

Rather than sharing the common greeting that she was accustomed to, however, Sans turned her hand in his grasp, bent over it, and pressed his teeth to her knuckles (or so she assumed; he didn’t exactly have lips, but his hat brim blocked her view of his mouth when he “kissed” her hand, so…), lingering before releasing her and standing back up to his full height.

She tried not to be rude by pulling her hand back too quickly, slowly lowering it back to her side as nonchalantly as she possibly could, but couldn’t hide the bright red blush that rose to her cheeks, face burning and eyes averting from the skeleton monster (who was quietly observing her flushed demeanor with curiosity and intrigue, plucking idly at one of his jacket buttons and tilting his head) so she could, nervously, pull a notepad from her back pocket, her fingers shaking so badly that she failed the first two times in trying to get her pen’s cap off.

“It’s… nice to meet you too. So… so, what happened here? Why are these monsters tied up?” she questioned rapidly, stumbling over her words in her edginess and discomfort (why had he kissed her hand? Was that something his… type of people did?) and pointing the end of her pen at the hog-tied monsters laid out on the counter of the bar, and Sans, blinking, turned to look over his shoulder before making a sound of realization, his free hand sinking back into his pocket and smugness pulling at his smile.

“oh, them. well, my friends and i took exception to them coming in and thinkin’ they could rob the place. kinda under our protection and all… decided to put ‘em on ice for you nice folks, once ya showed up to get ‘em,” he replied flippantly, strolling over to the bar and flopping himself into a free seat at the head of one of the captured criminals (both had their guns stuffed muzzle first into their mouths, secured in place with duct tape and effectively silencing them), and Frisk hummed in understanding, scanning the form she was holding for the proper place to begin filling out.

No wonder the building looked so well taken care of in such a decrepit part of the town… it was under the protection of, and, potentially, owned by, the mob.

“That is… unorthodox, but appreciated. I’ll need to… to fill out a report, and ask a few questions…” she began, straining to remember the protocols for the situation through her confusion and panic (so many things were happening at once… she really should have gotten more sleep last night), and though Sans began to reply, leaning back in his stool comfortably, Reggie, who had been watching their interaction with nervous hope, suddenly slapped a taloned hand to his forehead, rolling his gaze up to the ceiling.

“Oh, crap! I forgot my pad in the car… hold the fort, will you? Sans will watch your back. I’ll be right back!” he called frantically, apologizing to Frisk with his eyes (she used hers to plead with him not to leave her alone here, but to no avail), then turned on the spot and pushed himself back out through the tables, scurrying out of the front door and back over to the cruiser.

Leaving Frisk by herself, extremely nervous and hyper aware of all the eyes on her, standing in a bar full of gangsters.

She stood trembling on the spot for a moment, gaze trained to her notepad but mind empty of all but pessimistic worries (what if they killed her before Reggie came back? What if Sans _didn’t_ have her back?), before her attention was caught by Sans himself, waving his hand in her peripheral vision.

She glanced up at him, and he smirked at her tolerantly, patting the stool next to his.

“he’ll be a few, toots; reg always was one to forget where he put his stuff. would lose his head if it wasn’t stuck on. sit down… take a load off,” he offered, tone cordial and sedative; it was hard to believe, if it wasn’t so fresh in her mind, that only a moment before he had been belittling and disparaging her.

He was a snake, two faced and clearly cunning… she couldn’t afford to trust him.

So she remained where she was, as much as she would like to sit down (her knees were trembling and weak, her adrenaline leaking from her and leaving her feeble); Sans seemed to notice her hesitance, though, and patted the seat again more firmly, something both commanding and charming oozing into his rumbling voice.

“c’mon, sweetheart, i ain’t gonna bite ya... unless you’re into that,” he insisted, allure layering his demand into playfulness (she wasn’t fooled, she knew that it was no longer a request, if it ever had been), and so Frisk, surrounded by carefully watching gangsters, crossed the space between herself and the imperious skeleton monster, settling onto the edge of the proffered stool and resigning herself to waiting for Reggie to come save her.

No… not how she had imagined her first day going, at all.


	2. Bone-fide Conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stared at her for a long, long moment, one bony brow raised and his former teasing notably absent from his demeanor, and in the stretching silence, Frisk felt her heart nearly shudder to a halt. 
> 
> There was a glint of danger in Sans’ stare, challenge and intransigence in his narrowed, threatening gaze; Frisk knew, in that moment, that she had stepped over a line, that she had pushed too far, and that Sans, this unassuming, smooth talking, seemingly laid back monster, didn’t need the other gangsters in the room to handle his business.
> 
> There was death, in his hollow sockets, and it stared her down as steadily as the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-T I am so, so sorry that it took me so long to get back to this. I'm a wreck of a person, and I should be ashamed. But! After this moment, I will be focusing entirely on Dalliance and this story, so that I can get some real progress done before anything else tragic happens in my life XD don't give it a chance and all that. Anywho, here we are, enjoy at your leisure... and that's enough from me. On to the story!
> 
> My Tumblr, for sneak peeks, skele sins, extra content, and other shenanigans!  
> http://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My fanart blog, for all the magnificent pieces that get shown to me! There are a few for the first chapter further down the page, have a look!  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

* * *

Frisk had never inspected her knees so closely before.

She must have picked the same piece of lint from her pressed slacks three times now, trying to distract herself from her surroundings and their implications, but was supremely unsuccessful, her nitpicking and fussing doing nothing but sharpening her senses.

She could hear all of the movements of the group of gangsters in the dining room behind her, their chortling laughter and the clink of the ice in their cups and the shift of their suits against the wooden chairs they sat on.

She could smell the nicotine on the air, nearly drowning out the smell of alcohol and cologne and cooking meat; she could practically taste the tension in the atmosphere, twenty pairs of eyes locked on her every move despite her audience’s feigned ease.

She could almost _feel_ the monster beside her watching her as well, his stare heavy and unmoving and interested from beneath the brim of his lowered hat; his magical gaze, pinned to the side of her stubbornly averted face, was as amused as his broad grin, one hand tapping on the back of his chair and the other swirling the contents of a tumbler of alcohol (the smell indicated whiskey).

Frisk was, most of all, aware (almost too astutely) of the lethargic struggles of the thief hogtied on top of the bar in front of her, though, flinching minutely each time he moved or moaned in pain or breathed just a little too heavily.

The wolf monster, still out cold from the beating that he had received, had a broken nose, amongst his other injuries, and the blood from the wound was dripping from the edge of the bar and onto the shining floorboards at Frisk’s feet.

She was starting to feel ill, watching it fall, unpleasant reminiscence pressing at her psyche; she hadn’t been able to stomach the sight of blood from the time that she was a young child, hardly able to bear the sight of her own injuries, much less another’s.

Her phobia had only been made worse by the night that she had had her happiness and her peace and her mother were stolen from her.

Blotches of dust and lifeblood covered her mind’s eye in vivid, horrifying impediment, trickled a river of crimson misery across the floor, the sound of open wounds and escaping organs and emptying veins a living nightmare in Frisk’s memory… the same sound that the monster’s blood was making.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Frisk turned suddenly, violently away from the fall of the blue tinted blood to the floor (thank all the gods that it hadn’t been red), one hand coming up to cover her mouth and her eyes squeezing shut against the memory, and at her side, the mobster observing her every move snorted, chuckling beneath his breath and leaning back more comfortably in his chair.

“whassamatter, sweetheart? you’re lookin’ a bit pale over there. you’re not squeamish, are ya?” he snarked, a hint of mocking and scorn lilting in the cadence of his tone and playing around the edge of his smirk, and Frisk, after spending a moment composing herself, sat back up and shook her head to clear her mind of the lingering traces of horror and loss before looking to the laughing monster before her, a simmer of anger returning to her.

He had been nothing but rude to her since she he had opened his mouth (despite his moment of benevolent humor and his affable introduction, which she didn’t put credence in for a second), and she was getting really tired of his games and incivility and just plain callousness.

There was little she could do about it openly, though, considering the cold steel that would be pressed against the back of her head the moment she stepped out of line in front of his… Associates? Underlings? Employees?

Who was this guy, anyway?

So, despite her desire to let out another snappy comment aimed at the grinning, watchful skeleton, Frisk instead simply narrowed her eyes sharply, her disgruntled expression for him and him alone to view.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’ve never been very fond of seeing blood,” she said blandly, clipped and short, before looking back down at her lap, trying to seem final and cool (she felt very proud of herself for keeping things as civil as she had, given the ire stewing in her mind), but Sans didn’t take the hint, most likely on purpose, and huffed in dark mirth, his foxlike smile only widening at the chink in her armor that she had displayed.

He slowly pulled another cut cigar from an inside pocket of his trim, lavish suit coat, slid it between his teeth (Frisk resisted the desire to glance up and look into his mouth, curious about his anatomy), and struck a match on the collar of the dog monster laying on the counter in front of him, gaze locked on the side of her face deliberately.

He knew exactly what he was doing, the illegality of his action (smoking in bars was prohibited, and she seethed, within, at his daring), and, after taking a long, slow drag from his cigar, the end of it glowing cherry red, he blew the smoke he had inhaled against the side of her face incitingly.

Bastard.

“heh… and you chose ta be a cop? seems like a poor career choice. you ever seen a dead body, babe? ever seen monster dust? ever had to pull the trigger yourself?” he prodded scornfully, smug and sardonic, and nodded his head down at her sidearm, the edge of his grin twisting into jeering ridicule.

“…ever even held a gun before they put one in your pretty little hand?”

Frisk stiffened at this, thoughts flashing unwillingly once more to the night that she had watched her mother fall to dust.

To the gun that had shaken in her hand, the sweat slicking her palm making it as hard to hold as her terrified tremors. The bodies, both human and monster, that littered the floor of the abandoned warehouse.

The blood splattered on the smashed crates, the idling cars… her own clothes and hands and face.

She felt ill, for a moment, sicker than she had in years; she had done her best to repress these memories, to keep from recalling the worst night of her life, and here this asshole was, _again_ , calling up her past and using it as a weapon to weaken and demean her. He thought he knew so much. He thought he was so slick and clever.

He had another thing coming.

Frisk’s heart hardened in her chest, the terrible memory of her nightmare vision fading until nothing but her resolve and her anger and her resolve remained.

She wasn’t weak because of her experiences, and her reactions to her past. They were traumatic events, that both defined her childhood and spurred her on despite their existence.

She was strong, because she had made herself so, and wouldn’t be intimidated by this jackass just because he thought he was better than her. She didn’t care if he was the biggest, baddest gangster in the whole world (she’d probably come to regret thinking _that_ , but at the moment, she couldn’t care less), she wasn’t going to sit here and be humiliated by him.

Screw him and his high horse, his seemingly pathological need to assert himself. She could do that too.

Trembling with resentment and the rashness of her actions (this was stupid, so, so stupid, but she wasn’t going to be this asswipe’s doormat, no matter how fancy his suit was or how many friends he had), Frisk undid one of the buttons on the front of her shirt, withdrew a pad of tickets, and scribbled a citation for smoking in a bar with quick, quiet fury, her teeth bared as she bit out a retort to the smirking, aggravating skeleton monster’s condescension.

“Yes, I have, and even though I may not be the best with dealing with blood, I still wanted to do this. And I have perfect aim, Mr. Snowdin. Been shooting since I was big enough to hold a gun. I’ll say I made the _perfect_ choice,” she snapped in a wrathful mutter, ripping the ticket she had just furiously filled out from the pad in her palm and slamming it down onto the bar in front of the grinning monster beside her, her breath shallow and quick but her stare intense and unwavering as she met his gaze.

She casually (or as casually as one can while shaking like a leaf) slid the ticket book back into her pocket, leaving the button on its flap undone. Just in case.

“Put it out, or I’ll give you another one,” she growled in finality, pointing a serious, threatening finger at the cigar between two of his phalanges, then folded her arms across her chest, doing her best to appear firm.

There. See what the jerkoff thought of that.

Sans, holding her gaze for a moment, looked down at the ticket on the bar in front of him, tilting his head so he could read it, then glanced back up at Frisk with cold, steely introspection.

The pinpricks of light floating in his sockets, contracted and hard, flicked over her stony expression, his smile falling into a flat, emotionless line; his sockets narrowed, leeching any remaining warmth from his visage.

He stared at her for a long, _long_ moment, one bony brow raised and his former teasing notably absent from his demeanor, and in the stretching silence, Frisk felt her heart nearly shudder to a halt.

There was a glint of danger in Sans’ stare, challenge and intransigence in his narrowed, threatening gaze; Frisk knew, in that moment, that she had stepped over a line, that she had pushed too far, and that Sans, this unassuming, smooth talking, seemingly laid back monster, didn’t need the other gangsters in the room to handle his business.

There was death, in his hollow sockets, and it stared her down as steadily as the barrel of a gun.

But then he smirked widely, his intimidation giving way to the hint of something like respect, and stubbed out the cigar he held on the thick, shabby jacket of the thief laying in front of him; a quiet, self-satisfied chuckle rumbled in his hollow chest as he did, his gaze knowing and mollified as it turned from her, releasing her from its baleful hold.

He picked up the ticket that she had slapped in front of him, folded it with careful hands, and slipped both it and his extinguished cigar into an interior pocket of his suit coat, the glint of cold steel she caught sight of testifying to the side arm slung across his barrel-like chest.

He could have drawn it and blown her away in a second…

“so it wasn’t a fluke... you really won’t take any shit from me. good. can’t stand spinelessness,” he drawled lazily, straightening his coat with a flourish, then snapped his fingers at a nearby table while Frisk sat in stunned astonishment, gaze on the bar where the citation she had issued used to sit, dazed by the turn of events.

He had been testing her. He had been judging her, again, and had tricked her into reacting.

“drake. cap. take the trash out and leave it by the door for the officers, would ya? the slobs’re in the lady’s way,” Sans ordered to the monsters that had stumbled from the table he had drawn the attention of, waving his hand dismissively at the thieves as Frisk struggled to recover from the blow she had just suffered (this… this guy was impossible… how was she supposed to deal with him, he was too much…), then turned back to look at her with a comfortable, easy smile lifting his mouth into levity.

He ignored the grunts and groans the monsters made as they dragged the bound and gagged dogs down from the bar from the other side (the flame monster dusting shelves further down the bar, who Frisk assumed could only be Grillby, crackled at them warningly, muttering in a low tone to be careful with his glassware), merely looking at her with a raised, bony brow and a gleeful, expectant grin.

Well. He was awfully proud of himself.

Frisk resisted the urge to roll her eyes, still shaken from the moment of very real danger that had just passed her by (not only was Sans conniving and sly, he was downright dangerous, clearly capable of the murder she had seen in his cold, intense stare; she had been a fool to assume otherwise), watching with feigned interest as the bird monster and ostentatiously sneering monster in an overlarge hat pulled her perps across the bar and out the front door instead of bestowing Sans with any sort of reaction.

He liked attention, that much was clear. He wouldn’t get it from her.

“Thank you,” she said reluctantly, as the rest of the bar once again equalized (the men at the tables and booths had all been watching her with irate expectance, during her quiet, angry exchange with Sans, clearly unknowing of the situation but ready to leap to his assistance), giving no acknowledgement to the passed conversation and instead, extremely belatedly, buttoning the top two buttons of her uniform shirt, exceptionally aware of her exposed skin in the calmer atmosphere.

Sans, for his part, seemed at peace with her deliberate ignorance of their former discussion, only smirking to himself at Frisk’s affected ease, and shrugged one shoulder airily, wiping imaginary dust from the bar in front of him before leaning an elbow on it and settling the edge of his jaw on one open palm, his gaze on her averted profile never wavering.

He sure knew how to put the pressure on… she was sweating like crazy, even in the air conditioned grill.

“don’t mention it, sweetheart. least i can do, since you were so uncomfortable,” he assured her with both grace and magnanimity, raising his glass to his mouth to spill the rest of his alcohol past his grin (Frisk again resisted looking, unwilling to be caught in anything that resembled interest by him), then casually tapped the bottom of his empty tumbler on the top of the bar twice, indicating that he needed a refill.

“now that that’s done with, though, can i getcha anything? i’ll buy, since you’ve been such a good sport. beer’s good, and the mixers are passable, but the real gem is the burgers. best in town, guaranteed,” he offered blithely, his gaze teasing and his tone coy as one of the large amphibian monsters that had been flanking him earlier reached a broad arm around the skeleton to pour him another two fingers of whiskey (Sans didn’t even glance at the action, clearly used to having his needs met immediately), and though Frisk was surprised by his candid philanthropy, her stomach rumbling in answer despite her best attempts to dissuade it, she shook her head decisively, set in her ways and her firm dislike of the monster at her side.

His tricks and capriciousness were really rubbing her the wrong way… she was getting a very bad feeling about all of this.

Where the hell was Reggie…

“No, I’m not hungry. Thank you,” she insisted as evenly as she could manage, trying her hardest to still the tremors that were still wracking her body in the wake of her fleeting temper (the highs and lows of conversation with this guy were going to kill her, her heart just couldn’t take it), and Sans, looking unsurprised and acquiescent, shrugged again, crossing one leg over the other contentedly.

“suit yourself. hey grillz! the usual, if ya would,” he called out to the elemental rearranging his bottles of alcohol in the display behind the bar (the bespectacled flame monster sent the skeleton a short, exasperated look, but obediently walked away and through a door that, most likely, led to the kitchen of the establishment), somehow still managing to never remove his gaze from the side of Frisk’s face as he did.

His constant observation was making her even more nervous, suddenly sure that there was something on her face… or that he knew something, somehow, and was waiting for her to realize it.

A trickle of sweat escaped the hatband of her cap, streaking down her jawline, and Frisk, self-consciously, removed her hat entirely to wipe busily at her forehead and rearrange her hair, glad for something to focus on besides the too heavy, too knowing stare of the monster practically holding her hostage while she waited for her partner’s return (Frisk sent a quick, covert glance out the thick, slightly warped window of the bar, easily spotting Reggie’s long, waving tail where it protruded from the door of the cruiser).

She tried her best to convince herself that it was impossible that he knew anything about her, that he could know what she was hiding; he had only met her five minutes ago.

To him, surely, she was just another human.

It was a difficult job to manage, however, with the way he watched her. It was extremely unsettling, undoing her from the seams as she scrambled to hold herself together. Did he know he was doing that? Was it on purpose? Or was he always just this intense without realizing?

She had no idea… and clearly wasn’t going to get any answers from him.

She nearly dropped her hairband when Sans cleared his throat (or made a noise like it, at least… he didn’t have a throat, he was made of bones. Or did he, and she just couldn’t see it? So many questions…) after a long, drawn out silence, nervous and jumpy from his scrutiny.

He made no comment as Frisk scrambled to catch her rubber band, fingers awkward and fumbling, but his grin had a tinge of scorn to it as he nodded his head at the badge attached to the front of her uniform, running the tip of a lazy phalange around the lip of his drink.

“so. new blood, eh? fresh faced, straight out of the academy… and new to the city, too, i’m willin’ to bet. took a big bite out of the world all at once, didn’t ya?” he observed inquisitively, tilting his head a little in clear interest, and Frisk, keeping her eyes averted as she tied her hair back into a semi-manageable bun (she really needed to get it cut again… it was getting too long, and the summers this far south were unbearable with long hair), hummed in accord, judging that there was no harm in telling him that much.

She was obviously not from the big city, anyone could tell that. Most of the guys at the station had said as much.

“I guess I did, yeah. But you know what they say… jump in headfirst, or not at all,” she dismissed, shrugging and fiddling vainly with her bangs (impossible things… she didn’t know why she bothered with them, they always ended up messy and uneven), and Sans made a small sound of understanding, though even that sound was unconvinced.

His expression reflected that, when she took a chance and sent him a sideways look; he appeared casually disbelieving, like he could hear a clear untruth in her short answer, considering her with narrowed sockets from the shadow the brim of his hat cast.

“they do, at that. but do _you_ say that? seems… impulsive. ya don’t come off as impulsive to me. hotheaded, maybe… but not completely reckless,” he mused aloud, tapping a finger on his jawline consideringly, and Frisk, against her will and better judgment (damnit… she always gave herself away, she needed to learn how to lie better), stiffened defensively, her gaze dropping and her heart stuttering.

He was right, of course… she had been planning her move out to the east for years. Had a timeline for her acceleration in the force taped to the wall above her bed, and already had plans to meet a few “contacts” in the city who could tell her more about the villain she was looking for.

It was unsettling, though he could be bluffing, that he could tell so much about her from a glance and five minutes’ acquaintance…

“You might be surprised,” she muttered as nonchalantly as she could manage, though her heart was still rocketing around her chest in anxiety, and Sans, his grin widening inscrutably, let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders shaking minutely in his humor.

“i doubt that, darlin’… but i’ve been wrong before,” he allowed though his muted laughter, shaking his head and shrugging his broad shoulders, and Grillby, or at least she assumed, reappeared from the back room at that moment, carrying a plate bearing a burger so thick, large, and juicy, still sizzling from the grill, that Frisk’s mouth instantly watered, her stomach making another plaintive grumble.

She really wished she had time to eat here… that smelled delicious…

The appearance of Sans’ lunch was a blessing in disguise, at the very least, as his gaze finally left her, turning to the cheeseburger that had been set on the counter in front of him; curiously, he emptied almost an entire bottle of ketchup over the inside of the bun before, even more curiously (and disgustingly) dumping the rest of the bottle straight into his mouth.

He took a large bite of the burger, full of relish and enjoyment, before patting his mouth with a napkin and turning back to glance at Frisk from the corner of one socket, sending her a wink.

“i’ll just hafta wait and see on that one though, ‘spose. they treatin’ you good over at the department? got a safe place to stay?” he queried inquisitively, taking another bite of his lunch, and Frisk, wanting to stare (how… where was it going? She knew monsters didn’t digest their food, rather turning it into magic to renew their strength, but he was a _skeleton_ …), turned to the bar herself, fiddling with her pen and trying to ignore her the warning bells going off in her head.

He was being awfully inquiring about her life, though, she supposed, there was no need to be alarmed about such innocuous questions.

She didn’t believe for a _second_ , though, that he was simply being friendly.

“Yes, I’m doing alright. My dad worries, but nothing… _terrible_ has happened so far, so…” she replied guardedly, fidgeting and sending the cruiser outside another wistful look (Reggie was still digging around inside, his tail swishing in agitation), and Sans, his brows rising in passive prurience, made an intent noise, chewing contemplatively before putting his burger down, wiping his hands, and half turning towards her, his expression lax and lackadaisical and matching his laidback, offhand tone.

“mmm. daddy’s girl, huh? career kid? got ya a good commendation from family?” he asked, again pulling off a very convincing façade of neighborly interest, but Frisk was on to his game, her impression that he was doing more than just making idle chatter putting her on her guard immediately.

She got the very bad feeling that he was sizing her up. Trying to find out more about her, without revealing anything about himself, for more than just his own curiosity.

She didn’t need this kind of attention. It was the _last_ thing she needed, in fact… having a member of the mob looking too closely at what she was up to in the city would be a detriment to her efforts to finding her mother’s murderer, especially since not all of her sources were strictly legal.

She would need to watch what she said around him… she couldn’t afford to forget that he was as sly as his foxlike grins betrayed.

“Oh, no. My mother was a school teacher, and my dad’s in government, but not in any capacity to have influence over the police. I just… always wanted to be a police officer. Serve justice, keep the peace… do something important with my life. Keep people safe,” she informed him carefully, sidestepping any needless details, and though Sans’ sockets narrowed at her hesitant tone, his gaze sharp and flickering over her face searchingly, he seemed distracted by her last remark, letting out a bark of laughter and, literally, slapping his knee.

“justice? heh… you’re _definitely_ new in town. we got no justice here but what we make for ourselves. but it’s a noble cause… you seem passionate about it. bet you are about everything you do…” he snickered, rolling his glowing gaze in his humor crinkled sockets, before again picking up his burger as he spoke, his final comment coming out in a surmising murmur.

His view on the lack of fairness in the city certainly wasn’t new to her, from what she had heard about the place in her short time there… it was a virulent town, full of crime and violence and blatant racism towards monsters. The conditions hadn’t bettered much in the years since the monsters had emerged from the mountain a few miles outside the city limits, despite the rights her father had fought to get them.

Very few human businesses were willing to hire monsters, if only for the hatred they would get from the “activists” (that’s what they called themselves, at least… backwater, backwards thinking, medieval idiots, the lot of them), and, according to her schooling at her mother’s hands, this fact was what gave rise to the monster gangs, over a third of their populous deciding that it was better to live on the wrong side of the law than to be abused and starved and dusted for being what they were.

They decided to fight back, take what was refused them, and split from their king’s rule in what was known as the Divide, never looking back.

Sans must have been one of that third, giving up on the fight to instead seize power and sow his own kind of impartiality. She really couldn’t blame him, from some of the things she had seen done to monsters in her life…

Her mind again turned to her mother, and her eyes to the pool of congealing blue magic at her feet at the foot of the bar, and Frisk shuddered, bile rising in her throat and tears pricking at her eyes.

“I… I suppose so, yes,” she replied quietly and belatedly to the inquiry that she realized that she had never answered, though she had very little concern for herself at the moment (it had always seemed so unfair to her, the way people treated monsters, acting like they were stupid animals that deserved to be caged and used), and though Sans seemed to notice her change in mood, glancing at her in unobtrusive introspection, he shrugged it off in favor of remarking on their conversation.

“hmm. passion is good… but a good head on your shoulders is better, toots. gotta stay on your toes on the streets… can get real dangerous, real fast, ‘specially for unknowns with no friends or contacts to speak of. pretty girls go missin’ every day…” he warned her, though something in his tone seemed almost keen, like he already knew what she was going to say in response, and Frisk, her heart strengthening and her gaze snapping with fire despite his mysterious conceit, turned to look at him with conviction and resolve.

She wasn’t going to be intimidated by this city, with its shadowy streets and sordid past and criminal desires. She’d find a way to help it, while she was here exacting her vengeance. She’d leave it a better place somehow.

“You can stop trying to scare me, Mr. Snowdin. I can take care of myself,” she claimed fervently, head held high in her firmness, and Sans took a moment to bite into his burger again before answering, brushing a few sesame seeds from his hands and onto his plate casually as he did.

His grin was almost unsettling in its smugness, its expectant assurance.

“i can see that. brave, honest, smart… sharp tongued, witty, _determined_... you’ve left me in a bit of a spot, sugar. i’m not entirely sure what to make of you yet,” he rejoined coolly, drinking deeply from his glass (now that she thought about it, why was he drinking at all? Human alcohol had no effect on monsters… did he just like the taste?), and, stunned by his observations of her character, Frisk sat back slightly, hesitancy giving her pause.

She didn’t like how easy and calm he was being right now, in the wake of such introspection, and had the sudden, pressing desire to flee the restaurant entirely, to keep him from looking any deeper into her disposition. His reasons for doing so were a mystery, as of yet…

But she really didn’t want to know them. Right now, all she wanted was to fade into the background of his considerations and never draw his attention again.

“I don’t understand what you…” she excused as simply and meekly as she could, attempting to appear docile and clueless as she looked down at her hands in her lap (damnit… her fists were shaking, white knuckled and pale), but Sans, with a blithe chuckle, cut her off with a raised hand, his ring again glinting in the overhead lights of the bar.

“i _mean_ , that cops with integrity and gumption are a rarity in this town, sweet thing. they’re either lazy, arrogant, and power hungry, which is reprehensible, or they’re dirty, which is worse. some of ya are like reg, dedicated but with too much good humor and kindness… and then there’s you,” he revealed, reaching up to straighten his hat, then looked at her from over his shoulder, propping both of his elbows on the top of the bar and lacing his phalanges together.

His expression was one of vivid, sharp scrutiny, his sockets locked with her panicked gaze without flinching, without fail, and without doubt; she felt suspicion and renewed uncertainty rear in her just from that, shrinking back from his inspection and intense, soul deep stare.

Sans went on, sure of himself and his summation; with each word he spoke, Frisk fell into herself just a little more. How had he gotten such a clear view of her in such a short time? How had he pinned her down so quickly?

He was good… _too_ good. She couldn’t afford to let him look deeper. She needed to dissuade him.

“i pride myself on knowing people, and what they want out of their lives. something of a talent of mine, comes in handy. in your case, darlin’, i’m drawing a blank. can’t tell if you’re dedicated, young and passionate, just plain stupid… or somethin’ else entirely. i’m almost willing to put my money on the later... which could mean anything,” he surmised, his deep, gravelly voice sinking into her bones like a blade of searing detriment (she needed to get away from him, he was seeing too much…), then flicked his gaze down, indication her whole person with a long, intense drag of the pricks of light floating in his eye sockets.

“i’m gonna hafta keep a socket on _you.”_

Frisk, in her state of suspicion and hasty unease, stood abruptly from her chair at that, making a few of the monsters seated at the tables behind her jerk in surprise, hands flying to their weapons; the mobster that the human girl was avoiding looking at gestured passively to them, though, waving them down even as his gaze, penetrating and insightful, never left his quarry.

For her part, Frisk, blissfully unaware of her situation due to her consuming need to make tracks, was trying to think of any good reason to run that she could, fussily straightening the pressed seam of her pants and resisting biting her lower lip (that was her biggest tell, she had to stop that), studiously keeping her eyes averted to the shining floorboards of the bar.

“That’s really not… necessary, Mr. Snowdin, it’s like it looks… I only want to do my job…” she muttered quellingly (her first day on the job, and she had caught the eye of a clearly important member of the monster mob? She had the rottenest kind of luck… she didn’t want his attention, and certainly didn’t need it…), unable to escape the feeling that she was being backed into a corner somehow, and Sans, his companion’s behavior boosting his superiority, smirked broadly, at long last releasing her from the forceful hold of his probing sockets to turn back to his cooling burger, picking what was left of it up.

“please… call me sans. i have a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, might as well be on a first name basis,” he insisted passingly, polishing off the remainder of his lunch in one bite, and Frisk, dallying around her vacated chair nervously, jumped on the chance to redirect the monster’s attention, straightening her back (oh _good_ … her back was all sweaty, her uniform shirt sticking to her in uncomfortable wrinkles. This guy…) and quickly assuming the guise of the punitive officer again.

Anything to get him away from the subject of her and her reasons for being here. He had already looked too far into it, and was clearly too smart for his own good. Certainly smart- _ass_ enough.

“And why’s that? Are you planning on causing trouble?” she asked with all the authority she could muster, straightening her shirt as unobtrusively as she could manage, and the gangster, in the seat beside her, let out a snort of mirth, his shoulders shaking a little as he snickered to himself.

He bent his head over his empty plate, hyuking it up, before spinning on the stool to face her fully, folding his arms across his wide chest and appraising her with a diverted, amused look in his sockets.

“sweetheart, i’m always causin’ trouble… just ask my brother. couldn’t keep my hands clean if i wanted to. i was born to stir up a ruckus,” he chortled, smoothing out his suit coat and brushing crumbs from it vainly, and Frisk, blinking in surprise at his rejoinder, felt an unwilling rush of blood speed to her cheeks, his rumbling, merry laugh not just welcoming and calming, but rubbing against something in her psyche, like a friendly cat, that she hadn’t been entirely aware of until that moment.

She didn’t like his coy intimidations, or his shrewd scrutiny, or his mannerisms. She didn’t like the way he seemed to stare straight through her, to her very soul, or how much he seemed to think of himself.

There was something about his humor, though, that made a fuzz of shocked but very much enticed charm wave over her mind, his chuckles, untinged with mocking or disdain, like a warm blanket that made her feel incredibly at ease despite her situation.

She liked that even less than when he was breaking her down into the building blocks of her own self.

Frisk, disarmed and stunned by her discovery (she couldn’t afford to drop her guard around him because she liked the sound of his _laughter_ , what the hell…), edged carefully around the chair at her side to put the piece of carved furniture between the two of them, separating them even more and trying to steady her uneven breaths, to dismiss the tingle of warmth she could feel circulating in her cheeks.

She needed to calm down, what was wrong with her?

“I have a name, Mr. Sn… Sans. All these pet names are r-ridiculous,” she snapped defensively, internally commanding her thumping heart to slow down (stupid thing, what did it think it was doing?) and stumbling over her words in her haste and distraction, and Sans noticed, his pleased grin only ratcheting higher as he noted the darker tone of her cheeks and her heaving chest.

“and i’m anxious to hear it,” he responded equably, keeping any thoughts on her distemper to himself for the moment, and Frisk, in her distraction, simply couldn’t think fast enough to deny him what he was asking, her clouded senses doing her no favors.

Snap out of it, it was just a stupid laugh…

“I… it’s Frisk. But I meant my last…” she began to protest, struggling with her reactions and her shame over them (this was dumb, she felt like a little girl again, getting flustered every time a boy said something nice about her), and the skeleton monster in front of her raised his bony brows slightly, nodding and clearly rolling the name around in his head.

“frisk dreemurr… very nice. would it be outta line to say… you can _frisk_ me anytime?” he snarked with an expectant grin, sending her a roguish wink, and Frisk, at last, managed to break from her bemused perplexity, though it was not to her credit or due to her own efforts; she was released from her disgrace through the sharp, quickly stifled giggle she let out in response to Sans’ play on words, guffawing from behind the hand she raised to cover her unwilling smile.

She quickly reigned in her laughter, aware of how unprofessional it was, coughing to cover her amusement and fighting back the grin that was pulling at the edge of her lips; while she recovered, though, Frisk failed to notice what her own hilarity had done to Sans, his smirk wavering and a spark of curiosity alighting in his gaze.

There was a different kind of focus in his sockets now, one of not hard analysis, but of keen, inquisitive marveling, something that had been growing in his expression finally rising to the surface in the ambience of Frisk’s laughter.

It almost looked like realization, and, perhaps, even the smallest kindling of fascination.

Frisk, one hand propped on the back of the chair that she had fled behind and the other pressed to her chest, shook her head as she, at least mostly, dismissed her chortles, wiping tears of delight onto her shoulders and heaving a relieved sigh.

At least she had stopped blushing, thank the gods.

“Pfff… I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve heard that one. The Academy was a nightmare,” she dismissed, giggling one last time before returning her gaze to Sans’, and it was then that she saw his changed demeanor, the fervor that had transformed his bald deduction and facetious humor into interested, heated (and, admittedly, slightly confused) import.

Nervousness wormed its way into her heart, seeing his expression, and didn’t lessen when he spoke, his smile full of thrilled discovery and his gaze glinting with intensity.

“well damn. guess i’ll hafta come up with some better ones, getcha to laugh again. i like your laugh, i’d like to hear it again sometime…” he murmured, a heat that had been absent before weaving between his words and turning them from observation to seduction, and Frisk, her heart jumping in her chest with both nervousness and hormonal response, gaped like a fish, incapable of much else besides staring back at the monster across from her, her mind completely blank.

Had he… did he just… _flirt_ with her?

Frisk discarded the thought as soon as it entered her mind, reminding herself of the mutability and shrewdness of his personality; somehow, he was tricking her again. Somehow, this was just another of his strategies to humiliate her, to try to pry his way into her mind.

He had been putting her down and disparaging her only minutes before. Haughty in his presumption and disregard of her existence, looking on her as less than the scum on the bottom of his polished shoes.

She didn’t know why her mind was trying to talk her into believing he was flirting with her, but she refused to believe it.

Despite her resistance and inward insistence, though, despite everything that she had sworn to herself and what she was sure she knew was true of his character (he had been nearly impossible to pin down so far, but she attributed that to his apparent skill in subterfuge rather than any shortcoming on her part in reading him), Sans’ expression remained impassioned and intent, defying her supposition almost willfully.

What was going on…? She felt like she was in some insane logic loop, trapped in a world that simply did not make sense.

She had had _far_ too much of him that day. She needed to get away from him, from his encompassing, overbearing personality and his heavy stare and his fluctuating temperament and that stupid, knowing… strangely attractive… grin.

Thankfully, and far too belatedly, her angel of salvation came at just that moment, stumbling through the door of the bar with his investigation pad held victoriously on high; Reggie had returned at last, sparing her the need of talking to the mobster that had been surely and steadily backing her into a corner since his departure.

Frisk leapt on her escape route immediately, too, jumping away from the chair she had been hiding behind (grr… standing behind. She wouldn’t hide from _him_ , she was just… just… leaning on it) and fumbling for her own pad, averting her gaze from the skeleton monster watching her awkward retreat with bemused enjoyment.

There was something else in his smile now, though, as he observed her… something like indulgence, and fondness… and a glimmer of satisfaction.

“O-oh look, Reggie’s back! I’ve got to go write up the report,” she excused as she finally got a good grip on her inspection manual, the pad of paper clutched to her chest as she jammed her uniform cap back on her head, nearly dropping her pen in her exuberance, and Sans, raising a brow, let out an permissive chuckle, waving her away indifferently.

“of course… come on over when ya need some answers, i’ll make sure the boys cooperate,” he chortled tolerantly, raising his glass to drink but, as usual, never taking his gaze off of her, and Frisk, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck in delayed reaction to her stresses, shuffled back another step, struggling to regain her grasp on the situation and her role desperately.

She was on officer of the law, for crap’s sake. She couldn’t be acting like the scared child that she felt like right now, held under the weight of another egotistical, formidable mobster’s influence and made to feel so small and unimportant and lost that she was sure she was of absolutely no consequence in the world.

Get it together, Dreemurr. You’re better than this, than his mind games and coercions.

“And will _you_? Cooperate?” she shot back with all the confidence she could muster, proud that her voice came out unwavering and unruffled, but Sans himself, the epitome and definition of cool and collected, only smirked at her over the lip of his glass, leaning back against his chair comfortably and narrowing his sockets appealingly.

“if ya ask nice enough, frisk… i’ll do anythin’ you want,” he promised with a sultry twist to his words, their intent and heat like a length of silk on glass, smooth and sinuous, and even though she thought she had been prepared for anything he could reply with, even though there was nothing explicit in his response, Frisk still felt her cheeks redden again, her breath shortening in her chest.

She could think of nothing to say in response, could think of pretty much nothing at all at the moment (why… why was he affecting her like this? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been flirted with before. She had done her fair share of flirting of her own, she wasn’t a stranger to this…), and as such, though backing down was the very last thing that she wanted to do in front of this particular male, Frisk beat a hasty, humbled retreat, joining Reggie as he walked around the bar looking for evidence of the crime and laying out little numbered cards for them to document the scene.

She felt, as she listened to the more experienced officer explain what he was doing, just the smallest bit more secure with Reggie there, a large, scaly, overly chatty shield between herself and the strangeness and discomfort of her early afternoon (he, at the very least, handily distracted her from her dark inner thoughts with his antics and anecdotes and attempts at jokes), but nothing could keep Frisk from occasionally catching _his_ eye from across the bar, from feeling, almost physically, _his_ gaze on her.

Sans was still watching her, and very rarely ceased doing so during the rest of the time that she spent walking around the restaurant pretending not to know he was, only fully breaking from his mad dogging when Reggie went over to get his account of the scene (Frisk had very nearly begged him to handle the grinning skeleton monster, unable to handle the thought of speaking to him again so soon), and it was driving her up the wall.

What was his deal? Why was he so intrigued by her, by her reasons for doing what she did and her desires? It was none of his business, complete happenstance that she had even come face to face with him in the first place, and that he was… _hitting_ on her only made things worse.

She couldn’t let him get close to her, or get involved with him, even if she liked him. Which she definitely didn’t. He was a mobster, a high up member of his organization at that, and she was a police officer.

She’d get fired on the spot if she were seen with him casually, much less in a courting capacity, maybe even get arrested.

…not that she was even considering it. Ugh. No.

Not because he was a gangster, or a monster, or even because he was a skeleton (she wasn’t sure how anything… intimate would even be accomplished with him, considering). She had nothing against dating monsters; in fact, the only boyfriend she’d ever had had been a monster. She almost preferred them to humans.

In his case, it was his attitude. He was a dick, a pretentious, assuming, nosy asshole, even if he clearly had a good sense of humor. It took more than a few laughs to get to her heart. No, he had rubbed her entirely the wrong way immediately, and the last thing she would ever consider in concern to him was allowing his flirtations, much less encouraging them or _wanting_ them.

The next time he tried that nonsense, she’d squash his philandering flat.

Thankfully, after Reggie had finished with his far too cordial questioning of the monster in question (she had heard the both of them laughing affably from across the bar where she was documenting a few bits of evidence, scowling and rolling her eyes as she did), they had nothing else to do but get the still knocked out thieves into the back of the cruiser, which Reggie, the far larger and stronger of the pair, volunteered to handle.

“Least I can do, after making you wait on me,” he had assured her, hefting one criminal over each shoulder with ease, and had left her on the sidewalk outside to observe and take peace and finally, at last, breathe in a sigh of relief, released from the cloying, too intense air inside of the bar.

She didn’t think she could have borne another moment of the intimidation of the gangsters watching her threateningly… or Sans smirking at her from across the room, as though he was perfectly aware that she was avoiding him.

Never seeing the douche again would be far too soon.

Squinting against the still blinding sunlight outside, Frisk took a moment to relax, after her trying experience, backing into the shadow thrown by Grillby’s overhang to stay cool and looking over the extremely fancy cars lining the curb outside it (she wondered, idly, which one was Sans’, inspecting each of their shining carapaces distractedly), and as such was blind to the broad, hard chest that she stumbled backwards against, large hands clasping around her waist to keep her from falling.

She capitulated immediately, whirling around with a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks at her careless bumbling, an apology already rising to her lips.

“Oh, I’m so sor-” she began, holding her hands up and looking down at the shoes she had stepped all over in her awkwardness, but immediately recognized them and stopped in her apology, her gaze rising to meet the grin and smirking sockets she had least wanted to see again, especially so soon, looking down at her with bald amusement.

“fallin’ for me already? tsk… too easy, sweetness. and here i thought you were playing hard to get,” he teased, the edge of his smirk rising in his hilarity as he lowered his hands from where he had kept her from falling, sliding them casually into his pants’ pockets, and Frisk, forcing down the even brighter flush that she felt start to rise at his words, scowled unhappily, stepping away from him pointedly and folding her arms across her chest firmly.

She wasn’t going to be flustered by him again. She was better than that, wasn’t some brainless bimbo that was going to fall all over herself at some pretty words from him.

“Sans, I didn’t see you there. How…?” she started again, her voice hard and unforgiving and her gaze skimming to behind him, where the bar door was still firmly closed (she certainly hadn’t seen him there, though she had looked back at the bar window only a moment before, and hadn’t heard the door open _or_ close), but he interrupted her with a knowing, robust chuckle, leaning against the wall he stood beside and crossing one foot over the other equably.

“i know my way around, frisk. took a… shortcut, shall we say,” he snickered, laughing at his own joke (she didn’t know what was so funny about it), and Frisk, ignoring the warmth that blossomed in her blood in the ambience of his laughter, clenched her jaw, forcing her face to stay unmoved.

Don’t react. Don’t react. He’s trying to get your goat again, _don’t react_.

“Ah. Well, excuse me, I need to…” she began for the third time, trying to excuse herself so she could escape the skeleton monster, but he interjected before she could finish or take another step away, frowning, raising a brow under the brim of his hat, and looking disapproving.

“take off without sayin’ goodbye? awful rude, treating your new pal that way,” he disparaged, shaking his head and tutting, and Frisk’s mouth popped open slightly, stunned by his claim and insistence, and felt her cheeks darken in confused shame, not entirely sure why she should be embarrassed but taken aback nevertheless by his assertion.

They were far from being friends, barely even acquaintances...

“I… I don’t…” she babbled, caught up in her confusion and her scrambled thoughts (she would need a nap after this, she felt more drained than she had in years…), and Sans stared her down for another moment, magical gaze flickering over her face, before he grinned again, laughing uproariously and dropping his head, shaking it and his shoulders in his mirth; Frisk, initially shocked by his sudden amusement, quickly felt her sentiments drop back into irritation and censure, her glower returning.

He had been playing with her again. _Jackass_.

Sans, in his place against the wall, let out another deep, resonating chuckle, his chest heaving in his delight.

“i’m just messin’ with you, calm down. you’re too cute when ya blush, how could i resist?” he chortled, breathless with laughter, then straightened back to his full height, the edges of his sockets crinkled in his humor (Frisk caught herself wondering how his face moved like that, when it was made of bone, before shoving all consideration and curiosity about him from her mind), heaving a heavy, happy sigh and shrugging to settle his coat on his wide shoulders better.

“nah, i came out to tell ya somethin’, before you leave,” he informed her, his smile still wide and bright from his merriment, and Frisk, judging and unwilling to be around him a second longer, looked over at where Reggie was securing one of the thieves in the back seat, the other thrown on top of the trunk space like a trussed up piece of luggage, before glaring up at the mobster holding her conversationally hostage, gripping her forearms tightly.

“And what would that be?” she asked without care, really not wanting to hear what he had to say (it was sure to either to be another threat, another jest, or some form of a playful remark that was entirely unwelcome), but Sans merely shrugged off the tone of her voice, looking over at Reggie as well as he said his piece, the tails of his suit coat flapping slightly in the bare breeze that blew down the street.

“i wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. monsters in my… line of work… typically don’t get on well with the 5-O. it’s easier to let ‘em know not to mess with us than open ourselves to gettin’ shafted. don’t want you thinkin’ it’s personal,” he explained dispassionately, glancing over at her from the corners of his sockets as he finished to gauge her reaction.

Which was surprised, to say the least.

What seemed like a real, heartfelt apology? From _him_? That was the last thing that she had expected to come from his smirky mouth, and she certainly wasn’t prepared to respond, only capable of staring at him blankly, both of her brows raised and her grip tight on her arms.

She knew, perfectly well, that the last thing she should do was trust this guy. He had proven that much during their short acquaintance. He could be saying this to trip her up again, just to get another kick out of throwing her off her game.

She had a feeling that that wasn’t the situation this time, though.

It was a gut feeling, something that she could usually trust. So while she knew she couldn’t trust him and his foxlike grins and his sultry, smooth words…

Maybe she could believe that he felt bad for intimidating her on purpose.

“Well… well. I appreciate it. No hard feelings,” she allowed carefully, softening just the slightest bit (no way was she dropping her guard again, not around him), and Sans, across the sidewalk from her, seemed to relax a bit, his smile returning from where it had tightened slightly.

Had he been worried she wouldn’t accept his apology? Why?

“thanks, sweetheart. my bro always tells me i’m too gruff for my own good, that i’ll make enemies out of friends if i ain’t careful… and the last thing i want you to be is an enemy,” he told her with a relieved air about him, turning to face her fully again and tilting his head as he spoke, and Frisk nodded placatingly, though his last comment made alarm blare through her already on guard thoughts.

There he went again, with his pseudo-charming turn of phrase. She needed to get out of here before he went any further.

“I understand that. Thank you, but I really…” she mollified banally, waving away his thanks with a flippant hand and a shrug, but Sans wasn’t done yet, straightening and clearing his throat to interrupt her yet again (she was getting even more tired of him talking over her than she was of his manipulating her emotions, the corner of one of her eyes twitching).

“one more thing. to clear the air… make sure we’re _really_ understandin’ each other,” he insisted, tapping the toe of one superbly shined shoe against the cracked but well swept sidewalk, and Frisk rolled her eyes intolerantly, her arms tightening where they were crossed over her chest and her lips thinning.

“What’s tha...t?” she queried impatiently, glancing away from him for a moment when a car down the street backfired suddenly (Reggie should almost be done by now, and she was anxious to leave; she had wasted enough time on this guy), but stumbled to a halt when she looked back to the aggravating skeletal gangster, her words dying on her tongue; Sans had moved, when she had looked away, and was now standing so close to her that she could almost see the stitching on his suit, his grin so keen and broad that her stomach did an awkward little flip.

Sans, for his part, smirked wider at her blank shock, pulling something from one of his pockets (she had no idea what it was, she couldn’t seem to look away from him, willing or not) and leaning over her.

“i’m interested in you, frisk dreemurr. humans like you don’t come around often, ‘specially in the city. you’re different, an enigma. you could be dangerous… or you could be helpful. either way, you’re special, that much i can tell… one in a million. and those are odds i’m willin’ ta take part in,” he hummed, his presence so large and encompassing that Frisk couldn’t take the step away from him that she knew she needed to take, couldn’t make herself move an inch; she could only gape up at him, her heart in her throat and her blood heating and her mind whirling over his words, trying to grasp them and force them to make sense.

She could only watch the lights floating in the treacherous, devious, devilishly charismatic monster’s sockets flick from her eyes down her parted lips, the tiny ovals flaring with surprising ardor.

Sans’ grin, already bright and intense, sharpened wickedly at the sight of her flushed cheeks, her inability to pull away, and he shuffled a step closer to her, the space between their faces lessening to virtual inches; his breath, mysterious in origin and need, washed over her face (redolent of ketchup and, somehow, spearmint), sending her senses swimming as helplessly as her mind, her eyes wide and shocked by the heat that spiked in her chest at his closeness.

“so if ya ever get in trouble, need a friendly, if metaphorical, ear, or are feelin’… _frisky_ … give me a call, yeah? if it’s either of the former, i’m happy ta help, and if it’s the latter… well. i’m sure you and i could find a way to entertain ourselves,” he muttered huskily, reaching out to slowly lift the flap of the shirt pocket she hadn’t bothered to button earlier and slide the object he had pulled out of his own pocket into it; a shiver ran up Frisk’s spine at the close contact, the scent of his cologne and the whiskey he had drunk earlier and the sharp burn of ozone filling her head to confuse her even further.

She… she felt dizzy, her head spinning and her emotions scrambling to fill the blanks that he had just opened with his line of thought.

Was this another joke, another trap? What was _happening_? Was he putting some sort of spell on her? She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, and, most importantly, she wanted… she wanted to…

Her eyes made the same motion his had only a moment before, flicking down to his mouth, the strangest and most alien hunger burning through her veins at the thought of rising to her toes and finding out if you really could smooch a skeleton.

Thankfully, his contact with her seemed to unfreeze her joints, to shake her from her state of paralysis, and she scrambled away from him quickly, one hand jumping to the center of her chest (it almost ached, as though her thundering heart, or something else entirely, was trying to burst through her ribcage) and the other rising to cover her traitorous lips, her eyes wide and her cheeks burning and her thoughts reeling.

What had he done to her? This wasn’t possible, she had just, only moments before, sworn to herself that she felt nothing for this two faced snake, and yet here she was, weak kneed and trembling and almost ready to fall into his arms.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her, what power he seemed to hold over her, but she didn’t like it, and wouldn’t give into it. She was the master of her own emotions (even though that wasn’t exactly evident by her behavior that day), and she wouldn’t let herself be controlled like this.

Sans must have seen her growing indignation in her face, overcoming the surprised excitement that had claimed it before, because he chuckled warmly and smoothed his free hand down the front of his suit, straightening his tie and sweeping his gaze down her body in a slow, enticing drag that felt almost like a physical caress, a shiver streaking down Frisk’s spine in response.

“don’t expect ya to drop trou in the middle of the street, sweetheart… i can tell you’re a woman of class and persuasion. just figured i’d fly the idea by ya, in case you get a hankerin’ ta take a ride on the wild side,” he crooned suggestively, hiking a brow in indicative charm, and then startled her for the second time in as many minutes; a glow of cerulean lit his left eye socket, stemming from an orb of deep blue now floating within and sending sparks of magic flaring past his skull.

His jaw parted, and from within peeked a lithe, tapering blue tongue, sweeping across his teeth and the startlingly sharp tip of a canine in a seductive stroke.

“and believe you me… i’d give ya the ride of a lifetime.”

Frisk flushed in both outrage and shocked arousal, the heat rushing through her veins clouding her mind and garbling the irate response she wanted to spit at him (how _dare_ he assume… how dare he proposition…), but it appeared the skeletal monster didn’t need to hear a response to know the effect he had caused; he smirked, withdrawing his tongue past his teeth and letting his magic fade, and shook his head dotingly, a heated, fond laugh that made her stiffen in in ignominy and firmly held in check allure rumbling in his chest.

“like i said… too cute. i’ll be seein’ you around, frisk. that’s a promise.”

And with his oath, Sans inclined his head to her in a slow nod, gaze locked with hers from under the brim of his hat and grin both sharp and knowing, and turned on his heel, disappearing in a wisp of blue mist.

His abrupt and sudden departure shocked Frisk nearly more than any of his previous behavior had, a yelp of surprise escaping her at the faint crackle the precipitous emptiness of the air he had left behind made (like the passing of lightning); she stood looking at the spot he had stood for a moment longer, chest heaving and emotions roiling in her, before numbly walking back to the side of the squad car she had come to this damn bar in, helping Reggie finish loading the last criminal into the back despite his protests.

She needed _something_ to distract herself with. She didn’t want to, and certainly wasn’t prepared to, face down her feelings about what had just transpired.

Thankfully, Reggie had always been good at picking up on that sort of thing, a very empathetic and aware monster, and made small talk about everything and nothing as they finished up, loaded back up into the car, and pulled away from the curb, heading back to the station to get their perps taken care of.

This left Frisk with plenty of time to muse over her early afternoon, over the oddness and discomfort of it, and left her with only one question, which her partner seemed uniquely qualified to answer, as it was.

Who exactly was Sans Snowdin?

As such, as they were paused at one of the traffic lights on Main, Frisk turned to the humming crocodile monster at her side, curious but still a little reluctant.

She really didn’t want to think about the guy anymore, much less talk about him, but she needed to know, of that much she was sure. If he was planning on keeping an eye on her (or socket, as he had said… that was actually sort of funny, now that she thought about it. Not that she would admit that), she’d need to be aware of him, his intentions, and most importantly, what she had just gotten herself into.

Sans the skeleton could be either a vague annoyance to her because of this… or the greatest danger to her plan that she could have unwittingly stumbled into.

“So… Sans is an interesting guy,” she segued casually, watching the traffic speeding across the intersection blankly, and Reggie made a sound of agreement, nodding vigorously and tapping his fingers idly on the steering wheel he clutched.

“Oh, he certainly is that. Always knows how to shake things up, old Sansy. Quick with a joke, and even quicker with a ketchup bottle,” he said laughingly, shaking his head, as though at an old memory, and Frisk raised her brows, folding her arms across her chest.

“Known him long? From the Underground, I assume,” she questioned, trying to sound as vague and uninterested as she could manage, but Reggie seemed unsuspicious, nodding again and gaining a faraway expression.

“Oh stars yes. Known him almost my whole life. I lived in a place we called Waterfall, in the Underground, and the second I was old enough, I joined the Royal Guard, a force designed to watch out for the safety of the king and to… well… to help find a way out of there for all of us,” he said awkwardly, stumbling over he explanation, and Frisk knew why, solemnity overcoming her.

The monsters had been trapped underground for millennia, after the war between they and humans, the entirety of the Underground enchanted to allow anything in… but nothing out, not without the power of not just a Boss monster’s soul, but a human soul as well.

Only one monster had ever escaped, before the breaking of the barrier entirely, the son of the king and queen, and had returned after being attacked by humans, surprised at his appearance.

The monster, a gentle boy named Asriel, had not attacked them back, though he had possessed the power to destroy them all.

He had died after that, collapsing to dust in his mother and father’s hands… and had brought on a rage that the entire Underground had echoed. The monsters had, after that, slaughtered every human that accidentally fell into their caves, harvesting their souls so they could break the barrier, and ten years previous, the last soul they had needed had fallen.

The monsters had broken the barrier, and come to the surface looking for war, still angry and vengeful… but the king, heartbroken by the deaths of so many for the sake of their freedom, had plead with the masses of his people to find forgiveness in themselves, not just for their own sakes, but for the sake of the world.

Enough blood had been shed. They didn’t need another war, they needed _peace_. The souls they had taken from the fallen humans, most of them _children_ , deserved that much respect.

The monsters had agreed, had given up their war, and had tried, for the most part, to live in peace with humankind.

There had come the Divide, several years after their escape, wherein several hundred of the monsters gave up on trying to work alongside a species that only saw them as murderers and scum and animals and had turned to the darker side of the law, but largely, humans and monsters lived in accord.

A memorial had been built, at the top of Mount Ebott, to the memory of the humans that had died for the monsters’ release, and the entrances to the Underground had been sealed, to prevent anyone else from ever falling within.

An awkward silence fell in the car for a moment, the guilt that still plagued monsterkind over what had needed to be done to free themselves from their prison palpable in the air, before Reggie cleared his throat, his cheeks slightly darker green, and went on, putting the car into drive again as the light finally turned.

“A-anyway. I met Sans through the guard, and worked with him too. He was an enforcer and a tracker, though he slept more than he actually worked. Lived with his brother in the town of Snowdin, and both helped and hindered just about everyone in the Underground. Fond of his jokes, that much hasn’t changed about him… though almost everything else has,” he mused, sadness entering his voice, and Frisk frowned, her brows beetling.

“Because of the Divide?” she queried, and Reggie nodded once more, watery eyes firmly on the road.

“Yeah. Before, he never fought. Tried to help the last human escape the Underground, in fact. But once we were up here… everything was so different. We couldn’t get employment. The government put a halt on the gold trade. And the murders… the Divide was inevitable. We all thought Sans would be on our side of it, though, before the activists went after his brother... there was no other way for him after that,” he rejoined forlornly, and Frisk, hit with his emotions, reached out a hand to lay it on his shoulder, echoing his melancholy.

The monsters had all had their reasons, she knew that very well. The Divide had torn apart families, had made enemies out of friends… had shaken the world itself.

“I’m so sorry, Reggie,” she muttered, rubbing his hard, scaly shoulder comfortingly, and he smiled at her wanly, reaching up to pat her hand.

“Isn’t your fault. Isn’t anyone’s fault, in the end. We all did what we had to do… and that was what he had to do. We don’t see each other much, because of that, of course… I was happy to see him still alive and well. And hey, it looked like the two of you got on like a house on fire, so there’s that too!” he said with forceful cheer, wiping at his eyes with his knuckles and trying to pick himself back up from his gloom, and Frisk turned back to look out her window, rolling her eyes sarcastically.

“You could say that,” she muttered, keeping her voice cheery as well so she wouldn’t bring her partner back down, and watched the buildings of downtown pass by blankly, thinking over the information she had been given.

It was a good bit, some background and introspection on Sans’ life… but she needed to know more, needed to know about his involvement with the monster mob. She could run a search through the database while they were at the station, so that was suitable. She really didn’t want to ask Reggie any more about the subject.

The last thing she wanted was to involve him in her mission, to put him in danger… plus, he was clearly upset at the loss of an old, old friend that he had gone through.

He was sad enough already. She wasn’t so heartless as to make that worse.

As such, Frisk distracted her reptilian partner with a terrible, traffic related pun, laughed with him as he jumped on the handy distraction with a grateful, wide grin, and spent the rest of the drive back to Central with her eyes on the road and her mind on the search she needed to do, a certain monster’s grin never far from her consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought, and I'll see you next time!


	3. Behind Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk learns a bit more about her new frenemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That only took me a whole damn year T-T jesus I'm terrible. At least it's up now? Aheheheh... I'm sorry I suck guys. Here's the next installment, though! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Flint Kimberlite belongs to azulandrojo on Tumblr <3
> 
> My Tumblr, for skeleton goodies and other stuff:  
> https://thebananafrappe.tumblr.com/
> 
> My Fanart blog, for everything that gets made for my stuff <3  
> http://fanartcenteral.tumblr.com/

* * *

Frisk nearly garroted herself with her seatbelt once Reggie pulled into his spot in the station's parking garage, in her concentrated distraction, scrambling to get out of the cruiser and all but tripping over her own feet; the newly awakened, groaning criminals in the rear of the patrol car snickered at her awkwardness, leaning over to whisper to each other, but Frisk ignored them gallantly, assuring Reggie that she was fine when he inquired curiously and hurrying one of the thieves out of the back of the car to get him to booking.

She had little mind to spare for the booking process (she was still dwelling heavily on she and her partner's conversation, saying nothing of the conundrum of the monster it had been centered around), which lead to her having to redo all of the culprits' pawprinting twice, but Reggie seemed to pick up on her distraction and covertly muttered directions to her while putting together the pair's paperwork, humming under his breath and chuckling on occasion.

She had a feeling she knew why, that he had overheard more of her and Sans' conversation outside the bar than he was letting on, but had little to dissuade him and his impressions (it wasn't as though she _wasn't_ distracted because of Sans, after all, and protesting the reasoning would only make her seem more implicit), and so let him think as he wanted, doing her best to keep her blush down while finishing up the report of the morning's encounter.

With little other incident, beyond a rogue encounter with the coffee stand in the main hallway (one of the corners always seemed to catch the toe of her shoe, entirely willfully and through no distraction of her own, this time), everything was set in order in a little more than an hour, and Frisk, with a heavy sigh and an idle motion to brush her sweat crusted hair behind one ear, leaned against the front of Reggie's desk, flipping through the first report she had filled out herself and feeling a sense of pride in it.

It felt good, knowing she could do something herself, with minimal help besides. Weak  _indeed_ . She'd show him who was weak.

Just thinking of Sans' jibes, forgiven though they may have been, sent a sour note into her balloon of accomplishment, turning her momentarily diverted thoughts back to her former considerations; her talk with Reggie had hardly solved her wonderment concerning Sans' mob involvement, saying nothing of his taking interest in her (maybe he just had a thing for human women), and now that she had some free time, with the lunch hour ahead, she intended to do a little more research on the monster.

Keep a socket on her, huh? She'd do the same for him.

Lost as she was to her thoughts, it took Reggie several casual calls of her name, and one prod of a careful claw to her shoulder, to gain her attention back to reality; she blinked in confusion, looking up at the reptilian monster blankly, but he only sent her an indulgent, friendly smile and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the Police Chief's office.

“I know you're worn out, but we're almost ready for our break. Just one more stop... delivering the news.”

Frisk, something cold and hollow dropping into her stomach, turned to follow her larger, heftier partner up the stairs to the second-floor balcony reluctantly, avoiding stepping on his sweeping tail and swallowing at a sudden lump in her throat.

“Do we have to? Can't we just file it? There's no reason to bother him...”

“He's insisted that he be briefed on any reports containing mob activity. I don't want to any more than you, believe me.”

Frisk sighed, dropping her gaze to the toes of her shoes as she ascended the stairs, dreading each one more than the last.

The chief of the New Ebott police department, Edward Price the Third, was something of a legend among the law dealing community, with multiple commendations, wartime service, and over thirty years of police work under his belt. He was a short, sturdy man with a bristling grey mustache and severely trimmed hair, but was not to be underestimated from his aging appearance.

She had not, before that day, met a more intimidating person in her life. Sans now held that position, but that made her fear facing the chief no less.

Frisk ducked into the chief's office in Reggie's wake, shutting the door behind her and clutching the report between her hands so tightly the pages started to wrinkle. Chief Price seemed to have been waiting for them, shifting through and signing a few papers on the top of his desk, but didn't grant them his full regard, only flipping another form over and holding out his hand expectantly. 

His utter dismissal of them grated against her temper, but that was his way, or so she had been told. Every time she spoke with him, she felt like no less than the filth ingrained in the old carpet of his office, so far beneath his expectations and regard that she didn't even register on his level of existence. There was just something in the way he looked on others that simply made them feel... inadequate.

She couldn't reason why. It was just a feeling, and one she assumed came with the level of command and respect he garnered. It still made her uncomfortable, no matter how she tried to excuse it... but she had to hope it would pass with time.

Until then, she would likely keep tripping over her tongue and looking the fool he clearly thought she was.

“So what's this mess I heard about over at that monster bar. Gang activity, and only two arrests? Explain,” he barked, scanning the page before him with pale, frost blue eyes that cut through the fluorescent lighting like lightning, and Reggie, looking to be in no better state than Frisk (his large, wide smile was strained, now, his tail eerily still; Frisk's own false smile shrunk at that, bothered by his changed demeanor), pushed the human girl forward indicatively, nodding at the man's empty hand and clearing his throat.

It took Frisk a few moments to catch on, the sheen of the Chief's wedding ring catching the light of his desk lamp and her own nervousness distracting her, before she twitched, realizing Reggie's meaning, and leaped across the room to put the creased, slightly sweaty report into his waiting hand. The crocodile monster let out a quiet sigh, then, nodding encouragingly to Frisk and covertly waving her back over to his side, before he launched into his verbal report, his grin still tight and forcibly held in place.

It was something of a relief to know Reggie wasn't comfortable with the man either... and also not. He'd been with the force nearly as long as they'd been hiring monsters... if he wasn't used to him yet, she very much doubted she ever would be.

“Well sir, the monsters we brought in were attempting to rob the establishment, and were actually apprehended in the act by _suspected_ mobsters. There were no other illicit activities going on, as noted in the report, and no confirmed persons from the wanted list were present, so we didn't deem it necessary-” he began, curling his claws together and rocking on the balls of his feet, but Chief Price, scoffing under his breath and, setting aside his own papers, flipping the report open, waved his hand dismissively, cutting Reggie off in the middle of his explanation.

“Officer Dreemurr, what's your take on the situation? Was the right decision made here?” he demanded, his voice giving no room for excuse or deviation, and Frisk, shaken from her abject silence by the sheer coolness of the man's voice, stood up a bit straighter, not blind to the way Reggie's shoulders stiffened, or the tenseness that had filled the air of the room.

She had never seen the chief treat anyone this way... but then again, she had only been here a few weeks, and had really only interacted with him alone. Did he have something against Reggie... or just monsters in general? That wasn't right, he couldn't act this way, no matter his personal feelings...

All of her former fear vanished in a surge of righteous indignation, of determined justice, and stared straight at the chief, her gaze hard and unwavering.

“I believe so, sir. My partner handled the scene with experience and with great detail. Everyone present was cooperative, and no other action was needed to be taken,” she clipped out curtly (Reggie sent her a sideways glance, his scaled brows furrowing and the tip of his tail slipping across the floor to flick at her ankle warningly), and Chief Price, finally looking away from his paperwork, looked up at her intensely.

The man steepled his fingers underneath his chin, setting it on them and blinking slowly. His gaze didn't waver from hers, clearly attempting to establish dominance. It was like staring into the eye of a storm, the weight and censure of his many years bearing on her shoulders... but she did not bow. She only stood taller, and squared her jaw.

“You do understand, Dreemurr, that covering for an indiscretion will be held against you as well. This wouldn't be the first time things were... overlooked,” he intimated slowly, deliberately, flicking a meaningful look over at the monster at her side, and Frisk, her heart freezing further in her chest, barely held back a snarl, her hands clenching behind her back so hard her nails bit into her palms. 

How  _dare_ he. She didn't know Reggie as well as she wanted to yet, but she knew he was a just monster, and didn't deserve this sort of humiliation, especially in front of a younger partner.

“That's not what happened, sir. I stand by _all_ of Officer Waterson's decisions,” she insisted, holding his gaze unwaveringly; adrenaline was coursing through her, making her hands tremble and tears bead at the corners of her eyes (how desperately she wished she wouldn't cry when angry), and continued to hold his eye until the man sighed, shrugging his shoulders, and looked back to his desk, refolding and holding out the report they had presented him with.

“Very well. You're both dismissed,” he said shortly, already ignoring their presence again, and Frisk, barely biting down on her tongue, stalked across the office to snatch the papers from him and walked out the door without another word, storming down the stairs to pace, with indignant fury, before she and Reggie's shared desk space, trying her best to force her anger down.

Everywhere she went in this city seemed to reek of blatant hatred between monsters and humans; she had been far too sheltered in her father's home, homeschooled and secluded to what she had learned from the Embassy. It had been far more civilized there, the humans in her little hamlet and the courthouses much more polite and, at least seemingly, accepting.

She'd thought it would be like that everywhere, that the hatred her mother had garnered on the night of her murder was a limited event. 

That was definitely not so. The reach of the “Activists” was far wider than she had thought, and the fear humans held for the magical race of monsters far more ingrained than she liked. It was heartbreaking, frustrating and beyond her understanding.

Then again, she'd never really understood how humans could hate others of their own kind, over such a simple thing as skin color or religion. Perhaps she wasn't the best judge.

Reggie was far slower descending the stairs, his gaze careful as he watched his diminutive partner but his smile kind and grateful; he reached out a hand as she paced, touching her elbow gently to draw her from her reverie.

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Frisk... it's been a little tense, after they found out Sergeant Dominique was taking bribes from the human mafia in the city and moving laundered money for them. The chief is just making sure we're all dotting our i's and crossing our t's,” he explained once she had stopped, wiping at her eyes and turning her face away from a few other officers that were watching their interaction, and Frisk, swallowing at the anger billowing in her throat, let out a quiet huff, looking up at him through her eyelashes with the dregs of her fierce conviction lingering in her gaze.

“There was no need for him to jump on you like that, though. It almost felt personal. Has that happened a lot to you here? Shouldn't we do something?” she murmured, something deeper than her heart aching within her, calling for more than the idle indulgence of hatred and degradation, but Reggie, his golden eyes creasing with humor, understanding, and no small amount of appreciation, shushed her with a quiet chuckle, pulling her into a short but encompassing hug against his broad, comfortable chest.

It was like being embraced by a leather armchair that smelled a bit like donuts and had claws in places, but she certainly didn't mind. She quite liked it, and hugged him back before letting him pull her away and pat her hair back into place where it had gotten caught on one of his scales.

“No no, nothing like that, I promise. He's gruff, but not prejudiced. It's alright, okay? Calm down. Let's go get the report submitted so we can rest a bit,” he assured her, shaking his head and patting her back comfortingly, and Frisk, nodding shortly, lead the way to the bookkeeping room, letting Reggie's reassurance calm her.

She didn't believe him, not really, but she wouldn't make a public fuss if that's not what he wanted. If he was in danger of losing his job, or other, worse repercussions, she wasn't going to force his hand.

She'd just have to see to it herself. No small matter, but she was already going to be searching to root out the source of the evil in this city. Might as well see if there was something she could do to make Reggie's life here better too.

Dropping off the paperwork was the easiest part of the day thus far, and left both she, Reggie, and several other officers standing about in the cloistered hallway just as the clock struck the one mark, beckoning those present to a belated lunch. Reggie, with his usual, good-humored smile about his long jaw, patted his protrusive belly indicatively, sending his human partner a wink.

“Woof, what a morning! So much excitement! Did you wanna grab some lunch, Frisk? I don't know about you, but being around those burgers got me downright _famished,_ ” he groaned, nearly salivating at the very thought, and at his claim, Frisk's attention, focused momentarily on three of the other officers' conversation (they had busted a drug circle that morning, apparently; they were only waiting for the detective in charge to look into a body they had found there that had no connections to the case so they could start documenting evidence), snapped back to attention, her cheeks flushing at a fleeting thought.

She was starving, hunger awoken by the mere mention of Grillby's burgers as well... but that wasn't the only thing that reminded her of their former occupation. Skeletal hands, a shining, silver ring, a clever grin... and a bright blue tongue, sweeping across surprisingly sharp teeth.

She shuddered, her blush only deepening in almost willful defiance of her attempt to force it down, and sent Reggie a wan smile, waving a hand and shaking her head shortly.

“Heh... actually, I'm gonna look up some more details on the Dingo twins. Go eat though, Reggie, enjoy,” she insisted, stepping around him and in the direction of the research floor, and the reptilian monster, raising one scaly brow, cracked a knowing smile at the flush on her cheeks, nodding ironically in mock understanding.

“Ohh~ the Dingo twins, _right_... well, if you insist! I'll bring you back something!” he intimated, an exaggerated wink and a wave of his hand dismissing her, and Frisk, exasperated and unimpressed with his tactless insinuation (it meant nothing, she just wanted to look into him more. Ridiculous...), let him go with a wrinkle of her nose and shake of her head, making three left turns and descending a slightly sticky staircase to let herself into the research lab, just off the forensics department.

She could, of course, access files and such things from the main cubicles, but this was a little more private. Only a few officers were dotted about the computers here and there, leaving her open to choose a spot against one of the walls, and sat herself with the intent to study the monster that had been occupying her thoughts since she had seen him.

Perhaps, if she solved the mystery of him, she could forget him.

“Alright... Sans... Snow-din...” she murmured to herself, scooting in the rolling chair and tapping out how she hoped his name was spelled into the search bar with her forefingers (she was a police officer, not a secretary; her typing skills had never been all that great), then hit enter and sat back in her chair to wait, giddy with expectancy and nerves.

The database was always slow, the stopwatch indicator in the middle of the screen ticking by at a snail's pace while Frisk tapped her fingers on the desktop, shooting covert glances around the research floor to ensure she wasn't drawing any attention; she was welcome to use the force's resources, of course, but she really didn't want anyone asking why she was looking into the skeletal mobster's files, should they look over her shoulder.

It was why she'd come down here in the first place. She'd had to talk about him enough that day already. If her curiosity would have let her be, she would have avoided thinking about him entirely.

Finally, after several minutes of loading (how big was the guy's record?), the data search engine finally opened the file, and Frisk, who had begun twirling idly in her chair and counting ceiling tiles to pass the time, sat forward in her seat and scooted into the desk in rapt intensity, knowing immediately that she had the right files from the large mugshot taking up half the first page.

Sans wore a snarky grin and another, this time beige and cerulean, extremely fine suit in it, levitating the card bearing his name and booking number above one extended hand with more of his disarming blue magic, appearing to lack a care in the world despite his position.

His sockets twinkled with his all too knowing gaze, burning back into her own eyes with that judging weight that had nearly sent her heart into palpitations a meager hour ago, and, with a quickly suppressed blush (why did she react this way to him? It was incredibly disconcerting), Frisk scrolled the page down to hide the picture, shaking the remembrance of his gaze, the sound of his voice, the static gravity of his being, from her mind so she could comprehend the wall of text that lay before her.

Her eyebrows immediately rose from the sight of the number of cases with his name attached to them, the entire left side of his quite intimidating file boxed out with links to their descriptions. Cursory clicks (and more sluggish loading times) on a random few of the links lead her to various, still open cases spread out over the course of the last seven years, many leading to dead ends and unsolvable, mysterious clues none of the detectives had been able to decipher.

All of the links, and his own page, described him as friendly, unpatronizing, but unhelpful, with a quick wit and connections that unfailingly got him out of trouble with the law, no matter how damning the circumstance, with dismissed charges ranging anywhere from petty theft to first-degree murder. He had never been successfully charged and, as noted by one clearly frustrated lieutenant, likely never would be, despite his clear connections to the mob.

And that was another thing entirely, just adding to Frisk's growing sense of unease about the monster; further reading on his biography revealed that he was not just labeled as one of the most dangerous monsters on record, with battle prowess and LV ranging off the chart, but that he was suspected of not only gang activity, but of being the leader of the New Ebott branch of the monster mafia itself.

“If encountered, all caution should be taken with Sans Snowdin. He has not been known to attack police personnel himself, but his colleagues have been, and those that have made nuisances of themselves to him frequently seem to get caught up in damning circumstances, such as drug rings, corruption charges, and at times disappear entirely, never to be seen again.”

There were few things that made her truly exasperated with herself, but her quickfire temper was certainly one of them. Her forehead had never hit her palms so fast, her eyes clenched shut and her stomach twisting into anxious knots.

Fantastic. She'd written a mob boss a smoking ticket.

Frisk rubbed her palms into her closed eyes, groaning under her breath and scrunching her fingers into her mussed hair. She'd always had a knack for getting herself into trouble, so she honestly shouldn't be surprised... but it was an incredible stroke of bad luck for this to happen on her very first day out on the street.

Maybe her good turn had been catching his eye, distracting him from her rudeness. His flirting had certainly seemed to improve his mood...

In a rush of belated remembrance, Frisk fumbled for the still undone pocket on the front of her uniform, recalling him slipping something within while making his salacious offer (she had never been more mortified, nor, shamefully, intrigued, by the clear intimation of a male's interest in her), and pulled, from within, what appeared to be a business card, clean cut and made of thick, glossy card stock.

The front bore the title 'Snowdin Corporation; Production, Shipping, and Delivery Partners since 2008', complete with the addresses and phone numbers of the company's warehouses and corporate offices; Frisk snorted at the fancy silver lettering, stamped in a strange, flowy, all capitalized font, then flipped the card around curiously, refusing to let herself be impressed by the claim he had to such a successful business (the Snowdin Corporation was the largest shipping company along the eastern seaboard, even outbidding the postal service, and had all but monopolized the business in most of the country's large cities).

As she had suspected. Written on the back of the card, in sloppy, all lowercase handwriting, was a personal note, finished off with another phone number and a hand-drawn, cartoonish bone-

“you're welcome to call me at the office, but here's my cell too, in case your need is a little more urgent.”

She could practically hear the laughter in his voice through his handwriting, see again the spark of lust and heady flirtation in his hooded gaze, and succumbed again to a raging flush, hiding it as best she could in the collar of her uniform and glaring at the now slightly crumpled card in her clenched, trembling hand, shaking with anger and humiliated chagrin.

She should just throw the damn thing away and have done with it. It was unlikely she would ever see him again, given the size of the city and their _very_ different occupations... but something kept her from balling the business card the rest of the way up and tossing it into the trash can at the end of the desk, something that made her pause and, instead, set the wrinkled paper beside her on the desk.

She wasn't considering taking him up on his offer. Definitely, resolutely _not_. The number would simply be handy to have, in case she was able to find something incriminating on the monster herself.

Right.

Refusing to think too heavily on her keeping of the business card, Frisk turned back to the police file still open before her, absorbing as much information on the monster as possible. Anything could come in handy, from where his home was located (a gated neighborhood on the south side of the city; swanky) to his noted habits and hangouts (it seemed he went to Grillby's quite often) to the identifying features she already knew far too well (blue magic, yes, teleportation and intelligence, yes... there was nothing there she hadn't known beyond that he was a monster of rare breed, one of only two skeleton monsters known to the registry).

If she was to be prepared for a chance second encounter (not that she was planning one), she needed all the information on him she could take in.

She was relentless in her search of the one hundred and twelve page file, as well, forgetting everything else, the office around her, her own hunger, even the annoying ticking of the slightly off-center floor fan a few feet to the right; nothing halted her perusal but the last link she clicked on, leading to a folder of all of Sans' mugshots over the years.

Many were of the same caliber as the first, featuring the skeletal gangster smugly grinning at the camera and displaying little care or remorse for his position... but two of the shots stood out from the rest, almost chillingly disparate; the very first, taken a decade before, just after the monsters had been released from the Underground, and the second, blurred and sealed by an Approval Only lock.

His smile was absent, in the first mugshot, his expression bleak; he wore a battered, faded blue jacket and a plain white t-shirt, and looked so tired and hopeless that Frisk's heart, despite her desire to remain steely and distant, ached in a pang of understanding. It had likely been taken during the government's attempted regulation and registration of the monster race, before the dissension and murders had started.

Many blamed the ease with which the “Activists” were able to find their victims on the registration decree, and more than a few lawsuits had been filed, demanding its dismissal and the destruction of the records.

Clearly, they had missed a few in the purge.

Frisk, feeling as though a ball of lead had fallen into her stomach (the way monsters had been treated, and still were, was horrendous; they were regarded like dangerous animals, like lesser beings, and it absolutely disgusted her), shook her head and turned her attention to the second mugshot, squinting and leaning forward in her chair to try to make something out of the fuzzed, sealed picture.

It was clearly him, the shape of his skull hadn't changed, and he appeared to be wearing the same clothes as in the first... but dark, shadowy splotches stood out against the material as well, saying nothing of the odd, almost fluorescent lighting of the picture. Was his magic activated in it? Why?

Why had they locked that particular shot away? She suspected the file it was attached to was similarly sealed, but what escaped her was what he could have done that was so bad, so top secret, that they couldn't even display his mugshot.

Maybe she could get Reggie to unlock it for he-

“The bonehead been up to his tricks again?”

Frisk nearly toppled out of her chair and onto the floor, with how violently she jerked in her surprise, tearing herself away from the computer screen and whirling in the rolling chair to face the person that had snuck up on her while distracted, and came face to abdomen with him, raising her chin to meet his lambent gaze.

Seeing who it was shocked her even more than his sudden appearance, sending her mind reeling and her tongue curling itself into a knot.

“D-detective Kimberlite! I didn't see... hear you... um. I... can I help you?” she squeaked out, scooting her chair back hurriedly to get out of his personal space, and the elemental, surprised by her reaction, raised one earthen brow and let out a quiet chuckle, his smile puzzled but sincere.

“You looked so intent over here, thought I'd come break up the skull session. Turned out to be fairly literal,” he joked musingly, nodding his head at the computer behind her and quirking the edge of his mouth up at his own attempt at humor, and that small smirk sent something both hot and cold at the same time shooting through her heart.

It was all she could do to keep from devolving into yet another blush, clearing her throat and fiddling with the hem of her shirt to find something to do with her hands.

Detective Flint Kimberlite, a monster of notable reputation and great skill, had been an interest to her from the moment she had stepped into the New Ebott police station. Where Sans (she hated that she needed to compare the two now) commanded the attention of the entire room with his presence alone, holding his conversation partners hostage with his personality and knowing gaze, Flint simply floated at the edge of every crowd and conversation as though he belonged there, effortlessly blending in but at the same moment clearly standing apart.

She suspected it had something to do with his lone wolf work style, alone by his own choice and design; he claimed he operated better that way, and it clearly worked, considering his many successful cases.

She definitely understood the practice. If she were allowed to work alone at this point in her career, she would too. Fewer people getting hurt, fewer people in the know about what she was getting up to.

Nevertheless, the flame elemental, cloaked in hardened, cracked, glossy black lava but for his piercing eyes, had captured her intrigue and attention nearly immediately, though she had never had the gall to speak with him herself; he stopped by Reggie's desk quite frequently, for a laugh or a coffee or a traded story about a case. She always pretended to be very busy with her paperwork when he did, only glancing up at his defined profile from the corner of her eye on occasion.

It made her nervous, in a very schoolgirl fashion, being around him. He was the kind of officer she would have wanted to be, if she were truly interested in police work beyond the good it would do her personal vendetta, moral and just and concerned for the citizens of the city above himself.

It helped nothing that she found him very handsome, with his light, crackling tenor and his casually loose ties and slightly untucked shirt and rolled up sleeves, the way the fire in his eyes flared when he laughed and the sheen of the light on his obsidian skin...

She was staring at him.

Jolting out of her stupor with a shake of her head and a squeaky twist of her chair, Frisk cleared her throat and gestured unnecessarily at the computer, jumping onto the question that was clear in the monster's eyes.

“O-oh, right. Um. He... he was at the scene of a crime today, and he was very...” she petered off lamely, trying to find a good term for Sans' behavior (boorish? Conniving? Frustrating? None came close to the overpowering gravity of his persona), but Flint, with a look of revelation, huffed under his breath and sent her a knowing look.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. He's always had a way about him, makes you feel like he's up to something, even when he's just sitting around doing nothing. It's the stare, I think. Like he knows something you don't. That never changed, not even with the Divide,” he agreed affably, tapping his forefinger against his temple meaningfully, and Frisk, forcing calm over herself to still her jittery nerves (it didn't look like he was suspicious of her search, appeared quite understanding, in fact), tilted her head to the side minutely, catching on to the way Flint spoke of Sans.

As though he was personally familiar with him.

“...Do you know him?” she queried tentatively, careful in her new acquaintance with the monster (she didn't want him to think she was accusing him of consorting with a gangster, not with the apparently tense atmosphere of the station at the moment), and Flint, with a passably nonchalant look about the research floor (most of the other officers seemed to have left, but for one of the forensics assistants in a far corner), nodded his head cordially, though one of his hands descended to one of the front pockets of his grey slacks, an opened box of cigarettes between his fingers when he pulled it out again.

“After a fashion. Pretty much everyone knew _of_ Sans the skeleton in the Underground, if not through reputation or acquaintance then by title. He was one of the most important monsters down there, the Judger of Souls, born with two kinds of magic, patience _and_ justice. Justice is a rare magic for monsters, said to only be granted to one monster every thousand years. We all knew he didn't want the job, but he did it anyway. Made his brother too proud of him not to,” he recollected, sliding one of the cigarettes into the glowing crack in his stone that formed his mouth and lighting it with a flick of his fingertips, and Frisk, captivated by the information being freely given her, sat forward in her seat, intent on absorbing everything the monster could tell her. 

Flint clearly noticed her interest, the end of his cigarette glowing with an inhalation at the same moment as his smile returned, his posture slacking as he leaned one slender hip against the unoccupied desk beside him.

“He was a friendly guy, comedian at the resort, sentry and hot dog vendor in his spare time, always good for a laugh and a prank or two. He always seemed to be working. Always smiled and shrugged when we asked him why... guess he just had bills to pay, same as all of us. ...Til the human fell,” he divulged, the fire in his eyes dimming and his head drooping through the cloud of smoke he breathed out, and Frisk, her heart growing cold at the reminder of what came next, tightened her lips and nodded encouragingly.

“What did he do?”

Flint, glancing up at her, let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head and looking away, towards the window mounted high in the west wall.

“He... well, he kind of betrayed us. It was... a different kind of place, Frisk, you have to understand. We were all losing hope, the thing that keeps us _alive_... made to think that killing humans was the only way to escape our prison. So Sans helping the kid through the Underground was him taking our freedom from us. It didn't matter in the end, of course... they didn't make it past Alphys' lab.”

He shuddered at the same time Frisk did, mutual sadness dulling the atmosphere of the room to a pale shade of what it had been only moments before. She knew how much Alphys still blamed herself for the trap that had caught the child, mutilating them to the point that it was a kindness, in the end, to kill them.

Flint took a moment to compose himself, a few deep drags from his cigarette (he ignored the hisses from the forensic attendant, telling him to not smoke around the computers) and a long, dragging minute of silence, before he continued, tapping the ashes from his cigarette into his own hand (it seemed to absorb them, fascinatingly enough) and crossing one slightly scuffed dress shoe across the other.

“But it still made people think differently of him. Look down on him a bit. He lost a lot of respect, even when the King convinced us all to abandon the war and work for peace, lost a lot of friends. It... changed him. Watching the human die. Being shunned and cast out. Think that was the reason why he was alone when the Monster Hunters came for his brother,” he mused, folding his free arm across his chest and breathing out another billowing cloud of smoke, and Frisk, stilling in her chair (she had been twirling side to side in it ever since he'd started speaking, unable to otherwise quell her nerves and excitement), let out a quiet gasp, her hand leaping to her lips.

They hadn't... not his  _brother_ ... gods, no wonder he had turned... 

“Why did they?” she whispered once she had found her voice in her onslaught of empathetic sorrow (his brother must have been the other skeleton monster they had on record, his only family... she couldn't imagine his pain....), and Flint, taking another drag from his cigarette, finally turned back to look at her.

There was something hard and hateful in his gaze now, the fire in his eyes flaring and tinting blue.

“Papyrus was a very persuasive advocate for our movement for peace. He had a charm about him that people gravitated towards, and was one of the only monsters that didn't condemn Sans for his actions. There was a rally that went extremely well because Papyrus led it. It's what got their attention. They tried to assassinate him, and only Sans was there to stop them,” he murmured, his free fist clenching audibly with the grinding of stone and the flare of a few sparks, jumping from his fingers to the carpet.

He forced himself to calm before continuing, shaking his head and waving her down when Frisk stood to offer him her chair (she sat back in it obediently, transfixed by his story but worried for his anger; she understood, of course, she hated the “Activists” too); he turned his flickering gaze to the toes of his shoes, his cigarette held between two fingers and his jaw set.

“I saw the coverage that night. We were still living in tents, but someone had jury-rigged a tv in my little group of lean-tos... it was a bloodbath. Papyrus was injured, but alive... but the humans were all dead, almost thirty of them, if I remember correctly, and Sans was just standing in the middle of the carnage, sockets empty and hands at his sides, still glowing with magic while the police surrounded him. He was laughing. ...I've never seen anything so haunting and disturbing in my life.”

Almost as an afterthought, Flint pushed himself up from the desk he'd been leaning on, strode to Frisk's desk, and bent over her to click on the locked picture of Sans (he was still a good foot away from her, as he was a rather tall monster, at least 6'3”, but he was close enough for her heart to start thumping a bit faster, for her to be able to catch the scent of him, of the motorcycle he rode and the smell of burning wood and his cigarette and the fragrance of his detergent), typing in the passcode to unlock it and then leaning away again.

He didn't seem to have been blind to her own scent, the sharp expanse of his sculpted cheek prominences glowing a dull red once he stood back to his full height, but Frisk had no mind to pay to his expression, not with what now lay before her.

She had never seen a monster look as ferocious and unhinged as Sans did in the before hidden mugshot, her entire body frozen in instinctive fear once she had turned around in her desk chair. He was being restrained by two men, his arms locked behind him and another, hidden person holding up his booking card... and was splashed head to toe in drying, crimson gore, his formerly white t-shirt a lurid maroon and his bones, bared in places by his ripped clothes, stark with the sheer redness of it.

A single smear of blood was spread across his face, from his right temple to the left side of his chin, but not even the blood was what sent the tingle down her spine, made her hair stand on end and her eyes widen. It was the smile he wore, unhinged and cruel; it was the narrowed, merciless nature of his glare, the orb of blue magic that had seemed so innocuous that morning flickering with golden hue and promising pain and murder.

Flint seemed unsurprised by her reaction to the picture, letting her stare at it in shock for a few moments before reaching over to close Sans' file completely.

“Papyrus had to beg him to stop, to keep him from attacking the police and the responders too... Sans nearly killed him too before realizing who he was and giving himself up. He got so high on EXP, so lost to revenge and conquest... he could have killed his own brother and not even known.”

Frisk couldn't help the shiver that shook her body as she slowly spun to face the elemental once more, folding her arms across herself and bowing her head. So his brother hadn't died... but Sans had not only almost lost him to the Monster Hunters, but nearly killed him himself. She understood his anger, naturally; couldn't say she hadn't killed a few of the men who'd come after her the night her mother had lost her life.

What truly shook her, to the marrow of her bones, was the parallel between the two of them. How odd it was, to find something alike with someone she had been sure was completely incongruent. It felt strangely like fate, though she dismissed the thought the moment it made itself known.

She didn't believe in fate. She wasn't going to start now, over a coincidence with someone she had only barely met.

Flint, taking in her conflicted expression, nodded in understanding while, at the same moment, frowning in concern, taking one last pull from his cigarette before stubbing it out on his palm and tossing the butt into the trashcan a few feet away.

“Who he used to be was just... gone, after that. He was a different monster. When he got out of the holding cells, he joined the side calling for fighting back without batting a socket, and took his brother with him,” he sighed, brushing his hands together to rid them of residual ash before sliding them both into his pockets, and Frisk, quickly springing on the lighter topic, sat up and licked at her lips, dry from gaping at the horrific picture.

“And he's been doing gang stuff since then, fighting back on his own terms?” she asked pointedly, shifting in her seat and cinching her fingers together idly, and Flint, leaning again against the side of the desk beside him, nodded curtly, a look of vexation taking over his perturbation.

“We all know he is, but no one's ever been able to pin anything on him. He's clever, almost too clever, and dances out of allegations and charges with frankly frustrating ease. His “business” is legit, we've checked it a thousand times, even his home and warehouse are clean; I conducted one of the searches myself when I was in investigation. Can't get anything on the guy. He even does his taxes right,” he griped, quirking his mouth to the side and letting out a gruff, aggravated sigh, and Frisk, empathy rising again, chuckled under her breath, smiling sadly up at the lava monster.

“That must be annoying.”

Flint rolled the bright white pupils in the center of his gaze, shrugging stiffly, but was smiling crookedly as well, both lessening the severity of his upset and making Frisk grin in return; it was contagious, almost, his smile...

Was the rock that composed his skin as hot as his core seemed to be? Could he kiss a human without burning them?

Why was she thinking that?

She shook herself from her inappropriate thoughts, flustered and flushing lightly, in time to hear Flint's return comment, one of his hands reaching up to rearrange his loose tie, where it lay against his chest.

“As a cop, yeah. But as a monster... it's hard to judge. We get very little help from the humans, even over a decade later. The vigilante groups very often seem to be doing more for the cause than the politicians are. I don't support it, but it's... one of those slippery slope situations,” he admitted, humming under his breath and raising his brows and shoulders both in a minute shrug, and Frisk nodded, looking down at her laced together fingers.

She more than understood that. It hit rather close to home, after all.

“I get that...” she muttered, thinning her lips and twisting a little in her swiveling chair, and Flint, with a slow, unseen glace over her, tilted his head for a moment, letting the silence carry as he thought. He said nothing to reveal his considerations, though, beyond the curious smile that lifted his mentation into charm and what almost seemed like fondness, before he pushed away again from the desk he leaned against and stretched, the stone of his back shifting together almost melodically.

“Well, I'd better get back to work before the chief busts an artery again. Murders don't solve themselves, you know. Mind if I steal your computer from you?” he queried, raising one brow as he gestured at the desk she sat idly before, and Frisk, realizing his intent, leapt awkwardly from her chair to allow him her seat, snatching up the business card sitting on top as well (Flint cast it a curious look, but again said nothing) before waving her hand at the seat she had vacated.

“Oh! Of course, of course... thank you for sharing so much with me, detective!” she gushed hurriedly, stuffing the card in her back pocket and finger combing her hair back behind her ears self-consciously, and Flint, laughing gently at her pique, waved her formality away with an errant hand before holding it out to her, an offering of acquaintance long since necessary.

“Flint. And it was my pleasure, Frisk. Been hearing good things about you, wanted to talk for a while now. We should do this more often,” he offered, his smile sincere and open, and Frisk, confused but eager, slapped her hand into his palm and shook it, nodding a few more times than necessary.

“Y-yeah, sure! I'll... um. I get coffee at the... coffee stand on the first floor...” she said haltingly, casting about wildly for a good response (gods, she sounded stupid...), but Flint, either accustomed to such responses or merely indulgent, let out a snicker, squeezing her hand one more time before letting her have it back. He seated himself comfortably, and sent her a quick wink.

“Ha... me too. Small world, hmm? Maybe we can have a cup together sometime,” he suggested, and Frisk, cheeks reddening again, nodded quickly, tugging at the end of her sleeve and twisting one of her toes into the carpet below.

“I-I... I'd like that,” she murmured shyly, feeling as though her face was going to catch on fire any moment, before, more than a little ungracefully, without waiting for him to respond, making her way quickly between the close-spaced desks and back out to the stairway, one hand over her heart and the other over her lips.

Had that been what it sounded like? Had he asked her on a date, lame as it was to have it at the station?

She immediately dismissed the thought (fraternization was discouraged, they all knew that, and Flint didn't seem the type to go around breaking rules on a whim), tromping up the stairs to the main station thoroughfare. He was just being friendly.

Set on her summation of the situation, Frisk turned her thoughts from her new acquaintance and to the information she had garnered from him.

It was a stroke of luck to combat her lack of fortune that morning, that was for sure; she felt more than adequately prepared to take on the mobster, should they again come face to face, unlikely as that was. She did her best to ignore the surge of shame she felt at having stooped to spying on him to get the upper hand, assuring herself that he would pull no punches either.

It was clearly the kind of monster he was, using any tactic to keep himself on top.

She did wonder, as she wandered, almost aimlessly, back towards Reggie's desk, about what had happened to his brother, if he was in the mob too, given a safe, secure job in the background to keep him safe, before setting aside considerations of the monster altogether, spotting her partner and the large cheeseburger he had brought back for her.

She had enough on her plate, what with her first meeting with her newest informant this afternoon after work. It was always a hair-raising experience, meeting with the crooks and criminals that she got most of her information from... but it had to be done. They knew the ins and outs of the world the police attempted to manage, and had far more knowledge on the mafia than the records at the station.

It was dangerous work, and cost a great deal of money, but if it got her even a little closer to her goal of finding her mother's killer, she would pay any price, and consort with the lowest of the low.

The business card crinkled in her back pocket as she sat to enjoy her food, almost as though in laughter.

Lowest of the low indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think, eh? Let me know <3


End file.
